


The price is right

by dutchbuffy



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Goddesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 09:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11249985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dutchbuffy/pseuds/dutchbuffy
Summary: Spike doesn't get the time to recover from the wounds the First inflicted on him; all the girls on Revello Drive have disappeared. Giles, Xander and Spike must work together to rescue Buffy. Are they pitching a fight with a goddess again?Timeline: After Showtime in an alternate Season 7.





	1. Chapter 1

Buffy looked down at her hands. They looked ordinary, if miraculously unscathed after last evening's battle. Why was she then still feeling his flesh under her hands, truly cold for once from the temperature in the cave, instead of tepid or lukewarm as she remembered it, shivering in ecstasy under her touch? If she closed her eyes it was as if they were still staggering out of the cave, she exhausted after the fight, supporting his whole weight, it seemed; Spike shaky, silent, barely able to stand, and not looking at her at all after the long look they'd exchanged when she'd cut him loose. Her hands on his hipbone, feeling the too thin covering of skin and muscle tremble under her palm.

She put her arms around herself, not feeling chilled exactly, but lonely and weary. Her own ribs under the knit shirt were all too prominent. She hadn't been this thin in high school. When had the weight loss started? When had she gotten out of the habit of eating? After killing Angel, most likely. She was wearing thin from too much hard use, her edges were getting sharp, and if she went on like this she'd just become transparent and disappear.

She rested her hands on the porch railing and looked up at the half moon in the sky. The wood under her hands felt flaky and splintery. Buffy felt vaguely guilty when she noticed that all the woodwork on the porch looked like that, not just the railing, even by moonlight. Everything wore out so fast! Did her mother have it painted every year? There sure was no money to pay for it right now. She picked a splinter out of her palm and shivered, rubbing her hands. She really should turn in and get some sleep, but she dreaded the long night ahead. If it was anything like last night, which she'd spent tossing and turning and waking up from brief sleeps with long nightmares, she wasn't eager for a repeat.

All the responsibility was once again on her shoulders, and it was getting to her more and more. It wouldn't be the first time she'd had to save the world, but somehow it felt different this time. Caring for all the young potentials maybe? But she'd always felt responsible for her friends, and for Dawn, why would now be different? Would this be the last time, the one time too many? The world needs to be saved, but this slayer's past expiration date, use a new undamaged one?

Buffy shook herself in an effort to come clear of the contemplative mood. There was no point to it. She needed to be alert and fresh for the battles ahead, leading and training the girls. She went in and trudged up the stairs in the silent house. Apart from Xander, who was standing guard tonight, and whose silhouette she saw outlined against the plywood covered window in the dimly lit living room, she was the only one awake. She shrugged herself out of her clothes and crawled under the covers. Sleep surely must come soon, she was so tired.

After what seemed hours later she was still awake. No amount of turning or fluffing up the pillows was helping. This was no good, she really needed the sleep. Buffy gave in. She knew there was one place in the house she would be able to sleep well, and she was damn well going there. She picked up her comforter and snuck down the stairs, and further down into the basement. Spike lay asleep on the cot, not moving or breathing at all. He was lying on his side, and there was just room for her there if she spooned up to him and didn't move.

Buffy slid in beside Spike, careful not to jostle him or touch his wounds and contusions. His whole body was covered with cuts and horrible bruises. She could have drawn a map of them, so vividly were they etched on her brain. With the most gentle and delicate of movements she turned on her side and drew the comforter over them both. He was sleeping naked, as usual, and there was a wonderful smooth piece of back to lay her cheek against. She fell asleep immediately.

Spike woke up in the middle of the night, after a sun-lit dream of being terribly ill with the fever, and begin cared for by his mother as never before. There was a fire in his room all day long, he was gently washed with warm water, was given soft-boiled eggs to eat, and mashed apples and pears, porridge with cream and sugar instead of salt. His mother read to him patiently and he'd never felt so cherished in his life.

When he opened his eyes in the dark basement and felt Buffy's warm breath against his back he thought he was still dreaming, still hanging in the cave. He tried to snap out of the deceptive dream. He wasn't up to going through the inevitable emotions of hope and disappointment again. He shifted slightly in the comfortable warmth of the dream bed and the resulting pain shook him awake more sharply. It must be real. It couldn't be. Buffy wouldn't...But there she was, deeply asleep, breathing regularly and shallowly, nestled against his back, one small warm hand cradling his hip. He didn't want to give in to the flood of hope and love that swept over him, but he couldn't prevent tears from forming and pooling on the pillow. He wanted to stay awake and savor the moment, but he slid back into sleep without realizing it.

When Spike woke up again he was alone once more. His back felt cold and exposed without Buffy's body to shelter him. He shifted onto his back, unable to keep back groans of pain. How on earth had he managed to walk back here under his own steam, well, almost? He didn't think he'd be walking for a week a least. Someone was softy opening the basement door and coming down the stairs. His stomach lurched oddly and he felt out of breath for a moment. But it was Dawn. She came over to his cot, tiptoeing considerately, and he tried to greet her normally.

"Morning, Dawn."

"More like afternoon, Spike," she snapped. "Finally awake. Want some blood?"

He felt queasy at the thought, although he knew he needed it. "Yeah," he breathed. It hurt to talk. "Blood would be great."

Dawn nodded and went back up. Spike closed his eyes again. Talking was so tiring. When she nudged him, none too gently, he thought, he jolted awake, causing a painful scrape between parts of his broken ribs.

"Sorry," Dawn said, but her face stayed smooth and curious. She handed him a mug and a straw, and left again. The blood was of the right temperature, but the chill of Dawn's behavior kind of took the flavor out of it. Or maybe it was the quality of the blood, which couldn't be called fresh anymore. Spike forced it down, after hoisting himself painfully on one elbow. He felt all kinds of things move around inside that oughtn't to, and a wetness at his back. He didn't look; he'd heal, sooner or later. His limbs seemed straight, he could breathe, which was nice for the talking, and that should be enough.

He tried to put the mug on the floor but couldn't reach down that far. He heard it drop down onto the hard basement floor. It didn't sound broken. Thankful for the small favors of fortune he eased himself on his back and fell asleep again.

When Buffy stole in the next night Spike woke up. He lay silently enjoying the stealth and care she used to slide in with him as gently as possible. Strands of her hair tickled the skin of his back, and he smelled shampoo and coconut conditioner.

"Sleep well, Buffy," he said softly. He felt her twitch slightly. Kind of weird that a vampire slayer couldn't tell if a vampire was awake or asleep.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and she enquired how he was feeling in a small voice. The warmth from her hand radiated to every part of his body and it was as if he could feel the healing speed up.

"I'm fine, considering," he said. "Working hard at getting better. I'll be up in no time to guard your back." He hoped he could follow up on those brave words.

"Just get well," she murmured and made herself comfortable against his back.

"Buffy?"

"Hmm?"

"Why are you doing this?"

Buffy didn't answer immediately. "I couldn't sleep," she said softly. "I was feeling scared and lonely, and I can't tell anybody about it. I knew I could sleep here with you. You make me feel safe."

Spike tried a chuckle, but it came out as an old man's cough. "I could hardly defend you against a mouse right now, love."

"That's not what I meant. I can be scared with you. You can take it, the others would freak if they knew I was really wigging."

"Putting a lot of credit in me. Don't know if I'll measure up," he said.

"You will. You have, so far."

They fell silent, comfortably breathing in and out together. Spike wanted to see her, look into her eyes. They had seemed to brim over with emotion, back in the cave, but as usual she hadn't given voice to those emotions.

"Buffy? Do you want me to hold you?" he offered.

"Yes, please. You think you can?" she answered gratefully. Her breath warmed one spot of his shoulder blade thoroughly.

"If you'll help me turn around I'll be fine."

"Where...?"

"Not my ribs, or my hip. Shoulder and legs are probably best," Spike answered, trying to shift onto his back by himself.

She managed to turn him over, but it was at the expense of a great deal of pain. He closed his yes and bit his lip, willing the agony to subside. He felt her hand softly resting on his cheek and tried to stem the traitorous tears that were threatening to spill. He was counting on her relative lack of night vision, but her fingers found the drop of moisture unerringly and gently wiped it off.

"Your tears are salt, like mine," she said wonderingly.

She'd tasted them! "Used to be human, once. Still taste like one, I expect," he said between gritted teeth.

When the pain had subsided for the most part, he opened his eyes, and found her looking at him intently.

"Your eye is better."

"Uh-huh."

"You can hold me now, you know."

He put his arms low around her, far away from her breasts, and anyway he couldn't lift them that high. He felt himself slipping tiredly away into sleep, until she said," Too many knees, Spike. I'm gonna turn around."

Her warm ass pressed against his cock, and he felt a vague stirring. Well. He was in no condition to do anything about it, even if there had been any chance that Buffy would welcome it. He ignored it and let himself slide away into another dream of warmth and softness.

When he woke this time it was already dark again. He knew a fair amount time had passed, it was most likely late next evening. Buffy was gone of course, with her comforter. He felt slightly chilled, but more alert and less achy. Some of his wounds itched. His mother had always said that was a sign of healing. There were two mugs of blood next to his bed, one cold and one tepid. He drank them both down, after retrieving them with some difficulty. Everything seemed to work a little better. He allowed himself a little fancy: would a Slayer like Buffy have a healing touch? Her blood certainly might...

She didn't come to him that night. Only Xander came down once to bring him more blood. Xander wanted to take him to the bathroom, but was persuaded by Spike's obvious inability to sit up, to leave that for another day. He guessed he was probably pretty ripe, being dipped in stinky pools, and covered in disintegrating gore and all. Xander brought him a bowl of warm water and a cloth, and he swiped a bit at his face and the grubbiest and bloodiest bits of body, but the whole thing was so tiring he gave up. Sleep was more elusive this time. Funny that he'd gotten used to sleeping with her so quickly and easily. She was a very silent and quiet sleeper.

The next night she came again, slipping in easily, even giving him a quick peck on the cheek. He was facing the right way this time, and marveled at the comfortable way she settled in for a chat before getting to sleep. She looked better, scar fading, no more black circles around her yes, cheeks rosy and shining.

"Sorry I didn't come in last night, I should have told you, I had to stand guard and patrol all night. Were you lonely?"

"A bit," he admitted. "But I was mostly sleeping. Look, I can touch my hair again."

"Amazing," she smiled a little and ruffled the curly mass. "But you obviously didn't get as far as combing it."

"Um, no. Obviously."

"This is nice, isn't it? Why did we never do this before?"

He didn't answer that. She knew only too well; it was because she'd never wanted it.

"Sorry," she said contritely, and touched his face again. She kept her hand there, softly stroking the contours of his face, trying out the flexibility of his ear. He knew she was going to kiss him, and the few seconds it took between that realization and the actual act seemed the best in his life.

It was a very gentle, soft kiss, no tongue, but it left him tingling all over and he felt unaccountably out of breath. She took her time, tasting him thoroughly, giving off so much heat he imagined his face must be all pink and flushed.

The kissing went on for hours, or so it seemed, leisurely and going nowhere but to more kissing, and when he drifted out of a contented haze, he realized from the quality of the darkness he must have fallen sleep at some point. Not the kind of compliment to pay to a lady, but as the lady in question was still sleeping comfortably curled up against him, she couldn't have been that insulted.

He was half woken by a kiss and watched her steal up the basement stairs. He turned on his back, a relatively easy move now. He thought he was pretty pathetic, like a badly treated dog that was happy for crumbs and a scratch behind the ears. As long as it was Buffy doing the scratching he was okay with it. He could never expect more from her. He'd do anything to be in her vicinity, and try to be helpful and lend her his strength.

It was an eerie convalescence, shut off from the outside world. He could sense a lot of people moving in the house, many of them unknown to him. Occasionally he was visited by other Scoobies bringing him blood or hot water or doing laundry, but he wasn't much in the mood for chatting and usually drowsed the days away, dreaming or daydreaming of Buffy and his mother. This pattern repeated through a couple of endless days, Spike coming fully alert only in the few moments after Buffy slipped in bed with him and they talked of little things.

One evening Buffy brought his duster down with her. Spike looked at it dully. He supposed he must have left it somewhere before flitting off to Africa. He didn't want it. It was a bloodstained trophy of a victory best forgotten.

"I thought you'd want it..." she said.

Spike didn't think he'd ever told her whom he'd taken it from, and he wasn't going to do that now. Buffy went through the pockets and held up one of his rings, the silver skull ring. He's sold all the rest of his jewelry on the way back from Africa, and hadn't realized this had been left in Sunnydale.

"Don't you remember?" she said. "It was our engagement ring, back when Willow did that spell."

"Never thought you'd bring that up voluntarily...." he said.

She smiled. "I thought it was totally embarrassing then. Now it seems like the good old days, when spells were sometimes awkward but all ended well. Funny, huh?"

She put it next to his bed, on the improvised bed stand. She climbed in with him and fussed with the comforter.

"Seventh time now, Buffy, that you've come to sleep with me."

He was lying on his back, a thing he was very happy to be able to do again and Buffy was half laying on his chest, playing with his hair.

"You've been counting?" She said teasingly, and then sobered up. "I remember. You count. 147 days, right?"

"Yeah. This is better. I don't suppose you've told anyone where you spend your nights?"

She looked a little shamefaced. "No. Do you mind?"

"Well, yes. But...I guess- I'll be whatever you need me to be. If you need a little help in sleeping, I'm happy to provide it."

"It's a little more than that. Come on, I could have asked Mr. Gordo. He never says no."

"And I do?"

"Well...What if I wanted us to make love?"

Even battered and bruised as he still was, his body reacted to that.

"Buffy..."

"Shh...no talking. Let's just comfort each other."

Carefully positioning his arm he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She kissed him again, not holding back this time, and he could forget all his aches and pains and simply concentrate on Buffy, Buffy everywhere, warm contours against his cool body, her lips warming and tasting him. It was incredibly exciting to do this all very quietly, in the dark, and still being able to sense all her body functions speeding up, the blood zinging through her veins, her fast breath, and the smell of her arousal perfuming the air between them.

"Buffy...I can't..."

"Don't move, I'll do all the work. Lay back and think of England."

"Last thing on my mind right now, love..."

"I know. I've just always wanted to say that line."

Carefully she lowered herself onto him, and although it hurt a lot to feel her weight on his hips and thighs, it was worth it. She put some weight on her hands, on the sides of the cot, and gently started to move up and down, trying not to jostle him. He was in heaven, a kind of dark and achy heaven. He closed his eyes, but opened them again quickly. Oddly enough, sleep was beckoning again, and these were moments he certainly didn't want to miss. He couldn't see so well, everything was dark except Buffy. She seemed outlined in a soft yellow glow, as if there were candles burning behind her. The sweet intensity of her movements was nearly unbearable. Something was burning him, and he couldn't make out if it was the soul, his injuries, the heat of her flesh enveloping him, or his love that burned so brightly and painfully.

When he felt his release nearing, he braced himself for the pain that would follow the involuntary contractions, but Buffy knew just how to grip so he couldn't move too much and grate bits of broken bone against each other. He tried to start bringing her off as well, ignoring the pain it caused in his shoulder, but Buffy gently pushed his hand away.

"Just watch me," she said. He watched her hand move very slightly, and held her in his turn when she shuddered and bucked slightly.

"Goodnight, Spike," she breathed.

"Goodnight, Buffy," he answered, half asleep already.

Spike woke up when Buffy was getting up and got kissed with enthusiasm. He lay looking at her drowsily as she balled up the comforter and made ready to sneak upstairs. She still thinner than ever, and he scar on her cheek was still faintly visible. There was a little worried frown just above her left eyebrow. What was going though her mind? Who were all these people he was sensing upstairs?

"Working today, love?" She shook her head.

"Nope. I'll be in to check on you, okay? Try some exercises with you, another shower..."

She didn't come again that day. Or that night. In fact, nobody came in. Spike was getting pretty ravenous, and as he was really starting to feel like cleaning up, he decided to brave the stairs, find some blood and use the shower. He sat up, and immediately fell back, gasping. Christ. His spine hurt like hell. He tried standing up from a prone position, executing a half falling movement towards the dryer, propping himself up and holding on to it. It worked. Standing was better than sitting. His sacral bone must be shattered or something, he thought. He found a pair of grey sweat pants in the dryer and put them on, which was worse than standing up, because of all the bending over. He'd never realized what a lot of subtle motions were necessary to put trousers on.

Step by careful step Spike climbed up the stairs. Going to the kitchen was easier as it was level, but he had to stop and rest twice on the long way there. The house was very silent. He couldn't detect any presence in it at all. Everybody must be at work or out training, it was after all daylight. After heating up and glugging down several packets of blood, he rested his forehead against the microwave, trying to gather the strength for a shower. He stank. He really stank; he had to get cleaned up. He couldn't imagine Buffy putting her nose in that unwashed convalescent smell night after night, but she apparently hadn't minded.

Hadn't minded was a peculiar euphemism for what they'd done. Spike thought it could be called making love, she had called it that. She hadn't said anything about loving him, but she had never acted so thoughtful and gentle with him. What had happened was like a dream. He became a little worried it had been. No. Her scent was still all over him this morning. He was sorry he was going to wash that off.

He dragged himself upstairs and peeled the pants off again. He wished now he'd just wrapped a towel around himself. Towels. He spotted a stack and put it next to the bath. He didn't think he could stand up long enough to shower, and ran a bath. It was very difficult to lower himself into it, and the moment he went in he started to fall asleep. He woke up in a cold dark bathroom. Sighing, but quite alert and refreshed, he drained the cold water and put in warm. He scrubbed at the last, resistant stains and started the long process of drying and dressing. When he was coming down the stairs he heard voices coming up the porch. He felt relieved, ready for a little human presence.

When the door opened he could recognize the voices. Xander, Andrew and...Giles? He was surprised at how happy he was to see him again.

"Rupert? Long time no see!" he said.

Well, they were twitchy! Xander yelped from shock and Andrew was halfway down the garden before he realized it was just Spike.

"What's with you people? Never seen a black eye before?" he asked belligerently, wishing he could just lie down.

"Jeez, Spike! You scared me half to death. I'd forgotten you were in the house!" Xander muttered sheepishly.

Giles said nothing and just stared at his chest. Spike was sure the symbols must be really fascinating for a Watcher, but he still resented the staring, without even being greeted first.

Giles recovered from his fascination and briefly put a hand on his shoulder. "Well, Spike. Heard some rather interesting things about you. You don't look as if you could have had anything to do with the girls' disappearance, actually. What do you know?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Disappearance?"

Spike swayed and clung to the doorpost to steady himself. "Who disappeared? Buffy? Is Buffy gone? Where?"

His knees buckled and he started to slide down to the floor. Strong warm hands steadied him and propelled him to the couch, and he sank down gratefully. When the world had stopped lurching about he looked up and saw Xander's and Giles' faces, hovering over him a little too close, so that he had to blink and refocus his eyes, until the brown and the blue eyes no longer swam together.

He took a deep breath. "All there now. Tell me what's happened."

Giles started his tale. When he had returned from one of his vaguely explained trips around the globe, he'd found a silent house. Andrew was sleeping, and none of the girls were there. Giles hadn't been alarmed at first, but when Xander came back after work, and found nobody home, they started getting worried. Andrew hadn't seen or heard a thing, and none of them had remembered Spike yet. They'd scoured all of Sunnydale and ascertained the girls were nowhere to be found; Dawn wasn't in school, Buffy hadn't been to work, Willow hadn't been to class.

Spike ran a hand through his freely curling hair, unable to take it in. "So...something came into the house, abducted all the bleeding women, and left Geek Boy and me undisturbed?"

"We don't even know when, where, who by, or what for! When I left the house it was just a regular day, the girls getting up, bickering over the shower, Buffy making breakfast..." Xander said.

"There were no signs of anything abnormal?" Spike asked.

"Well, Buffy was perky yesterday morning, before she even had her first cup of coffee, but that's not the kind of abnormal you mean, I guess."

No, it wasn't, but it did make him feel chuffed. He noticed Giles' sharp glance, and realized he must be wearing a sappy grin. He tried to assume a normal, smirking Spike-face and thought of what could possibly have taken all the women, and why?

"You seem not to be thinking it's the First. Why?"

"Good question," Giles admitted. "We didn't find traces of a break in, and Andrew was left to sleep in peace. We shouldn't eliminate it yet, but my gut tells me it's something different."

Spike felt his head drooping. "Could any of you fine fellows help me to my basement? I need to sleep now. The sooner I recover the safer you will all be."

At a sign from Giles Xander helped him down. The last thing he noticed before tumbling into sleep was that his skull ring wasn't on the bed stand anymore. Could Buffy possibly be wearing it? His tired brain couldn't think of another explanation right now, and it made him feel all happy and warm inside.

Xander woke him up later in the evening with two cups of warm blood in his hand. "Drink up, buddy. We need you strong."

Spike passed on the ‘buddy', and drank up in silence, not interested in snarking right now.

"More?"

The thought made him gag, and he shook his head. Sleep was more important now. There was one thing, though.

"Harris? Could you check under the bed for my ring?"

"I'm your maid now?"

Xander groused, but obliged, and couldn't find a ring. Buffy must really have taken it. He fell asleep again. When he woke the next morning he was feeling a lot stronger. He went up to the kitchen under his own steam, and found the group of solitary males gathered around pots of coffee and tea.

"Any news, mates?" he said, while putting a bag of blood in the microwave.

They all said no in their various ways. Cruising the Bronze, all of Sunnydale's cemeteries and bars, and even scoping out the mall had turned up nothing. After downing the last three bags of blood Spike felt better, and took a cup of coffee. He took in their saggy postures and less than determined faces.

"Well, then, what's the plan for today?" he said, needing there to be action.

Giles dithered a bit, playing with his spectacles, but there was no plan, apparently.

"You're a fine bunch of tossers!" Spike said, indignant. "We can't sit around moping, there's work to be done! Giles, what do your bleeding books say? Well, get going on them! Um, you there, what can you do?"

"Um, well, I could summon a demon? And ask him where we could find the girls?" Andrew suggested diffidently.

"Sounds interesting. Harris, we'll hit the demon world. You can drive me over to Willy's." He waited a beat, expecting opposition, mostly from Giles.

"Hey! I'm not your chauffeur, and I went there already. They knew nothing," Xander protested.

"Yeah, right, ‘cause they were going to spill all to the human? Give us a break, mate." Spike was starting to feel a bit dizzy with all the standing about, and wished he could sit again.

"Spike is right. We need information, we know nothing yet. We're completely vulnerable without Buffy, we need her back."

Giles was looking at him warily, but still backing him up. Must be a bloody desperate watcher. He couldn't believe they were letting him take the lead. Were they so used to Buffy taking the reins, they couldn't do it anymore even in an emergency?

"Bit cold-blooded, Watcher. Could think of a coupla more reasons to want her back," Spike said.

Giles looked as if he was going to say a lot more, but changed his mind.

"Come on, Giles, you're not forgetting Willow and Anya? Dawnie? All the little Slayers?" Xander said, a little indignant.

"Hardly, Xander. That goes without saying."

"All right, Harris, help me to your car." Spike wasn't sure if he was the commander or the mother hen to this bunch of particularly clueless little geese.

"Um? It's daylight out there?"

"Yeah? Something happen to blankets?" He could do the commanding thing better if he didn't have to stand anymore.

After a humiliating episode with a smoking blanket and Xander almost carrying him Spike was finally ensconced in Xander's car, huddled under the blanket on the backseat. He needn't have washed, he thought resentfully. The smoke would have masked any other smell anyway. He must have dozed off, because they unaccountably stopped. He knew they weren't at Willy's yet by the sounds of people walking and talking and muzak being piped out of stores. Xander came back in the car.

"Where are we? What were you doing?"

A carrier bag full of cold slug-like things was pressed in his hands. "We were out of blood, Spike. I just stopped by the butcher's."

He leaned back in utter confusion. Xander was buying him blood and he hadn't even needed to ask? Giles had been distant and Andrew helpful. Had they all had personality overhauls in the weeks he'd been away?

"You hate my guts, Harris. How come you're buying me blood?"

"If Buffy thinks she...we need you, I'm not gonna second-guess her, okay?"

They drove on in silence. Xander woke him up in Willy's parking lot cum trash zone cum make-out spot. It looked extremely undesirable in daylight, and smelled worse then ever. Xander helped Spike get to Willy's back entrance. Willy himself was there, as always. Spike's senses had never told him Willy wasn't human, but he had to have some kind of magical augmentation to be able to stay awake 24/7.

The bar itself was almost deserted. From the muted sounds emerging from the backroom the kitten-poker game, uninterrupted since 1972, was still going strong.

"Hey!" Willy said in an aggravated voice when he saw Xander. "Why you back here, huh? I toldya I knew nothing."

Spike advanced as menacingly as he could towards Willy. "Stop nattering and give us the info, you bloodless little wanker!" he growled. He was happy to see Willy flinch a little before he remembered about his chip.

"Don't you try nothing, Spike! I know you can't hurt me, and any of the boys back there will help me beat you up, so just push off and I'll forget about it, okay?"

"Harris?"

Xander obligingly hit Willy's chin. Willy's head seemed to shoot up several inches and he crashed down behind the bar.

"Not on the chin, you wanker!" Spike said, exasperated. "We want him to talk, not have a concussion! Did you never watch Buffy doing this? There's an art to hitting humans!"

"Sorry, Spike. I just thought that all the hitting on the nose seemed kind of sissy," Xander muttered.

"Yeah, right, like Buffy is sissy." Spike tottered around the bar top, steadying himself with his hands. He drew some water from the tap and doused Willy with it.

"She is a girl, though. And she used to hit you on the nose all the time. That wasn't serious?"

"Nah, a good tap on the nose hurts like hell, bleeds a lot, gets a bloke's attention good and proper, and leaves no nasty after effects. It's not sissy, just practical! Come here, Xander, and slap him a bit. Gently. It should sting the skin, not shake his brains."

Spike beckoned impatiently to Xander, who'd been hanging back a little after the unprecedented success with the punch.

"This never happens when I hit vampires, you know, the lift-off kind of effect. It's kinda cool, don't you think? I got me a new kind of power!" Xander babbled excitedly.

Spike started to roll his eyes, but it made him dizzy. "Yeah, right, the power of carpentry. Ever take a good look at yourself lately? You must have gained fifty pounds, not all of it flab. Kind of puts a punch in your punch, if you know what I mean. And Willy's such a weasely little guy, too."

Xander bent over Willy and slapped him lightly. Willy started to moan. "Oh, stop. Please, stop, baby, please stop. Mutton chops, mutton chops."

"What the huh?" Xander said.

"Harris, you are such a....It's a safety word or something." Spike leant in and said in dulcet ones: "Oh, baby, tell me everything and I'll stop. Tell me what you know about the Slayer and her little friends?"

Willy let out a deep sighing moan. "More. Yeah. Right there, baby."

"Again!" Spike motioned to Xander. Xander hit Willy again, and almost got the pitcher of water that Spike was using all over himself.

"Hey! Watch it!"

Willy's eyes focused and he cringed when he saw Spike and Xander leaning over him. "Aw! You didn't have to hit me that hard, guys! The Slayer usually just threatens me, okay? Works for us."

"Exactly why you need to help us out, snookums, ‘coz we want the Slayer back pronto!"

"I know nothing about the Slayer, honest!" Willy squeaked. "But there was one demon here who talked about you guys, and that tall British Watcher fella, and someone whose name I didn't catch."

"About us? Go on, Willy!"

"She wanted to know everything about you guys, if you were human, what powers you had, where you lived. Who were your associates and so on."

"And you told them?"

"Yeah, sure. I'm the snitch, right? Not like you pay me to be exclusive!"

Wily looked from Spike to Xander, trying to assess where the damage was going to come from next.

"Okay. We're not happy, but as we don't pay you, fair enough. What kind of demon was it?"

"Rumor has it she used to be a goddess, came down in the world, lack of followers or something. Don't know what kind of goddess, or if it's true. She was kind of moody."

The door opened and Clem came in. "Spike, buddy! Good to see you. But man, you're looking really beat up. You seeing the Slayer again? Sweet girl," he said to Xander, "but hey, if I got a dollar for every time I had to watch Spike nurse a black eye or a broken nose... And the time I had to drag you out of that alley just before sunup? That wasn't pretty!"

Xander didn't react, but Spike could see rusty cogs start to turn in his brain.

"She doesn't beat me up anymore, Clem, she didn't do this. We were just talking to Willy here about a female demon who was here coupla nights ago, did you see her? Used to be a goddess?"

"Arty? Yeah, saw her around before. Made a pass at me, but not my type, buddy. Her boyfriends usually turn up in lots of little pieces. I like ‘em gentle, and with a bit more folds and padding, you know?"

Spike agreed enthusiastically and drew a lush hourglass shape in the air. "They don't make ‘em like they used to, eh? Women you could hold on to? Flesh you could dive in, soft and steamy like..."

He shared a look of total understanding with Clem. "Tara."

"Lovely girl!" Clem agreed. "Womanly. Ample."

"Yeah."

Spike shook himself out of it first. "Better get going, Harris. We want our skinny bitchy women back."

Xander opened his mouth to protest but changed his mind. "Yeah, we do. Home. Talk to Giles."

******

The house on Revello reverberated along with the menace in Giles' low growling voice.

"You insane little prat. You incredibly foolish runty amateur. If I ever see your grubby little paws near my spell books again your life will be forfeit. I will rip your tongue from your throat before I..."

"Giles? You alright?"

Giles paused in the midst of the strangling motion he was making with his hands and looked around at Spike and Xander.

He looked down at his own hands and back at Andrew's white terrified face. "Um, yes. I'm fine." He cleared his throat and took off his glasses to clean them.

"This little pillock here tried to summon a demon without any precautions at all. Could have cost us our souls. Blasted young fool."

"Hey, it worked before! Just let me show you, it'll work like it always has!"

Giles took a step towards Andrew and he backed off hastily. "Okay, okay, I get the message."

"We did not find any clues, we did not summon any demons, we were too busy preventing disaster from happening!" Giles growled, still in Ripper mode.

Spike sank down on the couch. "You tell him, Harris. The info from Willy and Clem."

"Spike taught me about hitting humans beings, and Clem dated a demon named Arky. Who knows all about us guys who live here. Including you, Giles. Right, Spike?"

Spike's eyes were closed.

********

Spike was in a cave. It was darkish, and the only sounds were dripping water and a faraway rushing. He could feel a presence just around the corner. This was a dream, right? He knelt down and touched the floor of the cave, felt wet limestone, sand. It seemed pretty real. Ah, he got it; he wasn't hurt and healing anymore, so it must be a dream, then. In that case, no need to beat about the bush.

"Buffy?" he called out.

As he knew she would she appeared around a stone outcropping. The lighting in the cave strengthened to a soft glow, enough for human eyes to see by. She stepped straight up to him, into his embrace. He folded his arms around her eagerly.

"Spike!" she said, sounding relieved. "I just knew you were here. Where are we? How did you find us?"

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. It didn't feel as smooth and fluffy as usual. "It's a dream, love. Just a happy dream. D'you mind that I dream of you? Coz, y'know, we'll be shagging any moment now?"

She laughed and rubbed her cheek against his chest. "You're a little more direct than the real version of you in the basement. And hey, not like I never dream of you, huh? Only like all the time? What's a little dreaming between lovers?"

"Are we lovers, then, Buffy? D'you call us lovers?" It was a weird dream. Usually there was just a bed, like his bed in his crypt, which they had used so seldom. Clean sheets, naked bodies, sex, whispered endearments. Not hard questions.

She looked up at him, her face still soft and open. "In my dreams I do, it's kind of inevitable, don't you think? When I'm awake, not so much. Not even in my mind, coz it's all so hard. All the choices seem wrong. Loving a vampire seems wrong, but staking you, or asking you to leave seems just as bad. But this is a dream, right? No choices. Just doing what you feel like doing..."

They kissed. She didn't taste like regular Buffy, a little coffee, a little toothpaste and whatever she had been eating. She tasted like just-awake Buffy, Buffy in the buff, her own personal mouth flavor, that he didn't have words for. She smelled very much like herself, too. Like Buffy might smell after not showering for three days, maybe, and hanging around in a damp cave. Just like a dream, to infuse these snippets of reality into the dream images at random and inappropriate intervals.

Buffy unbuttoned his shirt and ran her hands over his chest. "You're all healed up. All smooth and lickable." She kissed his breastbone and ran a nail lightly over his nipple, making him gasp and shiver. The light in the cave glowed a little stronger, and it was warmer, too.

"Let's get comfortable, love," Spike said huskily, looking around and finding a patch of dry-looking sand.

He spread his duster on it and they lay down. The fact that he was wearing his duster in the dream sort of bothered him. He wasn't that Spike anymore, and he didn't want to be reminded of the old Spike anymore. It did come in handy, though.

He peeled off her clothes slowly, savoring the feel and the heat of her skin. Skinny she might be, and bloody bitchy as well, but here was nothing like the soft texture of her skin, all the tiny invisible hairs tickling the sensitive tips of his finger or the palm of his hand. So many plusses to being a vampire, so many things to feel with a warm breathing sweating woman. He buried his nose in her armpit, and tickled the tip with the unexpected bristle of little hairs there.

"You smell so good, love. Like you, only tripled." He slid his cheek over her soft breast, feeling the nipple hardening, and took it in his mouth, sucking slightly, then giving it a bite and a tug. He felt more than heard her gasp, and smiled. She still liked rough better than soft.

"Like it rough, don't you, honey? Like it firm, and hard, and everywhere..." he said in to her ear, and she writhed against him, loving the talk, getting hot from his talk like before. Her hands were everywhere, touching and searing him, branding him with hand-shaped marks, tugging at his jeans, nearly ripping the buttons of with those strong impatient hands.

Buffy was really wet for him, and she gripped him so hard, it was almost painful, but in a good way. She drew him inside her and he couldn't think anymore, just babble about good and hot and wet and more. She panted and moaned under him, groaning his name and saying harder, and fuck me Spike.

It was almost like being back in time, except that he felt really really different. It must be the soul, that made everything so much more than just about the physical, more than his cock sliding in and out of her, more than pounding her into the sand, more than feeling her hands bruising him in her hard grip, feeling her gasp a hot breath against his mouth. It was as if his soul was burning inside him, filling every sensation with a meaning so painful, so intense it made him gasp. He felt its dizzying brightness and sheer weight bear down on him, making him shake and lose his rhythm, and made him unable to say anything but: "Buffy, Buffy, Buffy..."

And there was higher and brighter to come. She gasped, "Spike, I...I...I can't say it, but I..." It was as if she had said it, really said it. As if this wasn't just a movie his own brain made while he was sleeping, but really real Buffy telling him she loved him. They clutched each other, helplessly bucking on the ride of their feelings. He rolled them over, holding her tight against him on his chest. Her heart beat a fast gallop, slowing down only a little when they rested.

Buffy lifted herself on her forearms and looked at him. "Let me say it, Spike. I can only do it in a dream, anyway. In real life I can't do it. I'm such a wuss, if people only knew..."

"Shh. You don't have to make yourself say it, love. When it comes without you even thinking about it it'll be the better for it, okay?"

"Yeah," she breathed and lay down again, shifting around against him until she had found the snuggest possible fit. He felt her slide down into sleep and was happy and proud to keep holding her like that, keeping vigil over his love.


	3. Chapter 3

Spike woke up on the couch, feeling groggy but exhilarated. That had been some dream. A bloke should always dream like that. He got up and was amazed at the amount of strength he seemed to have regained. He heard the other fellows talking in the kitchen and realized with a shock of apprehension that they might well have heard him dreaming. If he had actually made the sounds he remembered making in his dream...He'd better kip in the basement next time instead of just collapsing on the nearest flat surface.

He walked to the kitchen, intent upon the fridge, not looking at the others.

"Hey, Spike," he heard Xander say. "Awake at last. I'm guessing you had many, many interesting dreams?"

Spike turned slowly towards the others and saw Xander's smirk reflected on all their faces. He burned with the memory of blushing, and thanked God or whomever for not being able to any more.

"Is that right, mate? What were you doing then, standing over me listening to me dreaming?" he drawled, not returning the looks.

"Now why would I do that? You were just really really loud, man. I'm just glad the girls weren't around to hear you say those things."

Andrew sniggered.

"And can I just mention how deeply, deeply disturbing this was? And how disgusted I am? And how much I wish Buffy had just left you with the First?"

"I'm so glad to see you reassert your powers of independent thought, Harris. Pity that Buffy's opinions are already starting to lose weight, though. She's been gone, what, two days? Bit soon, eh?"

"Just - just stop dreaming of her, Spike. You have no right to dream of Buffy!"

Spike shrugged off his irritation. "'S not like I have control over my dreams, Harris. But I plan to sleep in the cellar next time, anyway, to spare your sensitive ears and impressionable minds."

"You do that, Spike. I'm just kind glad you don't have prophetic dreams like Buffy, coz that would be really creepy." Xander shook his head and chomped down on his breakfast donut.

Giles looked at him over his glasses. "Well, if Spike did happen to have a prophetic dream just now, we might get a clue on where Buffy and the others are."

Spike was heating up his blood and didn't answer. "Spike?"

"Transatlantic travel bollix up your mind, Rupert? We're not gonna discuss my dream. Period."

"But it was about Buffy, right?" Xander said.

"Well, yeah..." Spike rolled his eyes.

"Was there any indication of her location?" Giles persisted, still fiddling with his glasses.

Spike sighed deeply and wiped his mouth. Would the taste of pig's blood ever get any better? "I was in a cave, people, didn't go exploring, didn't meet any evil thingies."

"No, you just had sex with Buffy!" Xander said. "In the only place you could get it. In your dreams!"

"You know what, this conversation is starting to bore me. Let's talk about the progress you all have undoubtedly made while I was recuperating on the couch." Good. That made them uncomfortable again. No, not good. No progress meant no Buffy.

Spike sat down and leaned his forearms on the counter. "All right. What do we have so far? We know there is a demon, possibly an ex-god, who is interested in us. Us blokes. Rupert, are you saying you have found bugger all on this demon in the wonderful world of library books?"

"Um, basically, um, yes. Bugger all pretty much covers it." Giles put his glasses back on

"Nada. Zilch. Diddly," Xander elaborated.

"Zippety. No cigar. Squat. Zero..." Andrew enthusiastically started up a litany of nothings.

"Shut up!" Giles said. Andrew blanched and cowered.

Spike got up again and started to pace. Pacing always helped him think.

"Rupert, hear me out. A demon named Arty, maybe a former god; boyfriends usually end up in little pieces. That's what Clem said, right Harris? Ring a bell?"

"Yeah," Xander confirmed.

"You said Arky," Giles protested. "Arty is a completely different matter. Torn apart? By hounds, by any chance?"

"We're thinking the same thing, Rupert. Artemis. Never a very friendly goddess, especially not to people of the male persuasion."

"Why don't we summon her?" Andrew asked.

Spike looked at Giles. "Could he? She is only patron to female virgins, right?"

"Hey!" Andrew protested. "Who says I'm a virgin!"

Spike looked at him askance. "Let me put it this way. Did you ever have sex with a woman?"

"None of your business," Andrew answered sullenly.

"From what I remember a bloke had better stay away from our ex-goddess, unless it's about hunting."

"We're hunting our girls?" Xander suggested.

"More literal," Giles elaborated. "Game. Boars."

"Huh. But does she have, like, power over women?"

Giles pursed his lips. "Not literally. But if a virgin girl asked her help, she might intercede in worldly events on her behalf."

"So? Is there a virgin taking revenge on us? And who are we talking about? Dawn? One of the little wannabes?" Xander asked.

Spike shrugged. "Giles?"

Giles got up, already mentally rifling through his books. "These are the beginnings of a lead. I'll do some research on summoning our former Goddess or asking for intercession." He left the kitchen.

"Okay. Giles is happy. What are we gonna do?"

"Help him? Wash up?" Spike suggested, and left in his turn for the quiet of his basement.

He was making up his cot with the underside of the soiled sheets, not willing to ask Xander for clean ones, when his door opened and he saw Giles coming down.

"We need to have a little chat, Spike."

The tone of his voice told Spike pretty much what kind of chat it was going to be. He resigned himself to it and sat down on the cot.

"Well? Don't hold back on my account, Rupert. Let 'er rip, then."

Giles coughed and seemed to have trouble finding the right beginning.

"Spike, about the soul. I mean to say, I know why you went to get it. Buffy told me something about your relationship, and Xander filled in some of the details..."

"Yeah right, Xander Harris, the completely unbiased observer who was there every minute Buffy and me ever spent together?"

"Let me finish, Spike. I know Xander pretty well, and I think I can assess the weight of his judgment. If you truly love Buffy, and want what's best for her, I think you should leave Sunnydale and never return. However worthy your deeds and intentions have been lately, and I say this with some doubt, I don't think you could ever be called good for her. Surely you realize that now, with the soul to guide you? Promise me you will leave as soon as you're fully recovered. Buffy may think she needs your strength, but there is always an alternative."

Spike was silent for a while. "Rupert, you know I respect you. Well, maybe you don't. But you're talking a load of rubbish right now. You're not her father, we're not in some Victorian farce, where the undesirable suitor can be made to leave with threats or promises of cash. I'm not saying I'll hang around for ever, but it's up to Buffy. If she wants me to stay, I will, if she wants me to leave, leave is what I'll do. But to have the gall to think you know what's best for her? I think she'd be mightily pissed off if she knew that."

Giles transformed into Ripper right in front of Spike. He grabbed Spike by the collar of his shirt and with clenched teeth said: "You'll do as I say, you young punk, or I'll find a stake with your name on it."

Spike looked back with a calm certainty he hadn't known he possessed. "You do that, Rupert. You try that. I don't answer to anyone but Buffy."

Giles tried to stare him down, and Spike remembered an occasion very much like this one, when he'd felt powerless because of the chip, and Giles had easily succeeded in forcing him to back down and running him out of the magic shop. Not that he had power now, but it didn't matter who was boss, Giles or him. Buffy would make the decision.

Giles backed down slowly, still staring hard at him.

"So," he said at last, trying to mask his unease with a cough. "Better get Buffy back soon. Try to talk some sense into her." He started to walk towards the stairs.

"You know I would never willingly hurt her or Dawn, don't you?" Spike asked, troubled by Giles' hostility.

Giles turned his head to look at him. "I do believe that is your intention. I'm just not too sure how well you are going to stand up to that. A soul in not exactly a guarantee for good behavior, you know. And my chief concern is Buffy. I don't want to see her hurt again, in whatever way."

"No parent can protect his child completely against hurt, Rupert."

"But she's been hurt so often before. Could she take staking you if it was necessary? I want her not to have to make that decision."

Spike fought against tears of weakness and doubt. "I'd sooner walk into the sun or stake myself than let her go through that!"

"I hope so. Otherwise I intend to see to it," Giles said, his voice no longer sounding threatening, but no less determined for that.

Damn Giles for bursting his little dream-fueled balloon of happiness. Spike heard Giles tread slowly and heavily up the stairs and close the door. He fell back on the cot and put his arm over his eyes, trying to find his focus of ten minutes ago. Self-doubt and self-hatred were not opportune feelings now. He had to concentrate on finding Buffy, and keeping the others on track. He tried to remember who'd taken charge last time Buffy had been out of the picture. Willow, mostly. It was still odd that Giles let him take the driver's seat, even more so after this lecture. Maybe he was getting old. Maybe he never had been the leader type, just the loyal follower and protective father figure. Before falling into sleep once again, Spike thought he'd do his utmost to live up to Buffy's expectations.

*******

"Buffy?"

"Here..."

They kissed feverishly, as if they'd been apart much longer than a few hours, as if he wasn't just dreaming this. She pressed herself against him urgently and slipped her hot hands down his jeans to grip his ass cheeks.

"Buffy, wait..."

She drew back reluctantly, unwilling to relinquish the contact, he thought. "What?"

"Buffy, you would send me away if you didn't want me, wouldn't you?"

"How can you even ask? How can you think that I would do that? I want you here, with me. I want to make love to you right now!" She pushed him down on his knees on the patch of sand, where his duster was still lying.

"No, love, I mean...Giles thinks I'm bad for you. That I should leave you for your own good..."

His head struck the sand with a thud. She straddled him and pinned his arms, her expression thunderous and fierce. "Don't you dare. Don't you dare leave me. Promise me you won't."

He saw the tears in her eyes and said thickly: "Never leave you. Only if you send me away."

She relaxed and collapsed on his chest. "Just hold me, Spike. Don't wanna think of hard stuff right now, just wanna feel."

Spike passed up the obvious opportunity and held her tightly. Ruefully he said; "I'm a drip, to choose to dream this instead of a nice shag. Rather talk to you than shag you, innit weird?"

He inhaled the smell of her hair, no longer obscured by shampoo or conditioner or whatever goop girls put in it. He remembered that when he was a young man, he would try to get a whiff of the delicious scent that was said to rise from a girl's parting, the neat white stripe that bisected their shapely heads.

"Must be love," she said, her voice muffled by the cloth of his tee pressing against her mouth.

"Yeah. Most likely is, sweetheart. Come here, baby, gonna ravish you now."

He was taking his time unbuttoning her shirt, kissing the tops of her breast and her stomach, when they heard Willow's voice.

"Buffy? Are you there?" She sounded anxious.

"What the...?" Spike groaned and cast his eyes to heaven. "Why? Why dream of Willow? Is this my bloody conscience torturing me?"

A bedraggled auburn head was stuck around a stalagmite and retreated again hastily. "Spike. Oh." Willow's voice said. "I didn't know you were here, too. That's weird. But - good. You can be our link to the outside world."

Spike rolled off Buffy, onto his back, leaning on his elbows. "How would me dreaming of shagging Buffy - and not getting there, mind you, because of your unwanted presence - help a dream person communicate?"

Willow appeared from behind her rock and sat down next to them, politely averting her eyes from Buffy, who was doing up the last buttons of her shirt. "But we're not dreaming, Spike. I noticed Buffy had gone into some kind of trance, and I decided to follow her."

Spike tried to clear his head by shaking it. "Are you saying this is real? That Buffy and I met on some dream plane?"

Willow made a face that said, ‘Something like that, but it's too complicated to explain it properly to you.'

"So, everything we say and do on this plane is like me saying it to a real person? Buffy will remember meeting me here?"

"Huh-huh." nodded Willow, looking uncomfortably at Buffy. "Sure she will. That's what so convenient about it. We can talk this way, even if we don't know where we are and how we got here."

Spike looked at Buffy, who was very red and biting her lip. She refused to meet his eyes and concentrated on doing her shirt up. Willow glanced at Spike in confusion. Spike was too busy masking the hurt he felt to help her out.

"Spike, tell me about your side. What do you know?"

"We think you were kidnapped by a former goddess named Artemis. We don't know why, we don't know what she wants. She seemed to be interested in us men."

With a gesture, Willow made a fire appear on the cave floor, looking very real, crackling merrily. It gave off actual warmth and smelled of apple wood. They arranged themselves around it, stretching their hands to the low flames. Buffy sat turned away from Spike. It hurt.

"Huh. Interested in men? Why did she kidnap us, then? Buffy, did you tell Spike about Dawn, and the other girls?"

Spike tensed. "What about Dawn? Is she alright?"

Willow frowned. "I guess. But she and three of the other girls are in some kind of trance. The rest are just normal and bored out of their skulls, and stinky like us."

Spike looked thoughtful for a moment. "Could be that Artemis, being a kind of patroness to virgins, treats them differently?"

Willow cleared her throat. "Spike, do you have any idea if we're still in Sunnydale somewhere?"

Spike shrugged. "We couldn't find you. Demon grapevine only mentions us. Maybe you're not even in this dimension?"

Willow frowned and twirled a lock of her stringy-looking hair. "Tell Giles to do a locator spell on us. I know there is one in the Grimoire Grys, that‘s the big red leather book under my pillow. Tell him to use that. I need to know where we are if I want to use magic to get us out."

"Couldn't you just use this dream-talking thingy to talk to Giles directly, Willow? This seems like taking the long way around?"

Willow sighed and fiddled with a stick of wood that wasn't burning properly. "I tried to do a locator spell earlier, but the magic just bounced back off the walls in our cave. You could try telling Giles, but I have no idea how you and Spike managed to meet on a dream plane without even realizing it, let alone that I could instruct Giles on how to find it. Gonna get out of here, now, back to check on the girls."

Willow took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Buffy said in a low voice" How do I get out of here, Willow?"

"Just close your eyes and will yourself to wake up while counting to ten, that always works for me."

"Willow, wait!" Spike said urgently. "How about food and water? You'll die if you don't have water?"

Willow opened her eyes with a snap. "Wow. How could we not think of that? I haven't been hungry or thirsty at all. How long have we been away?"

"Days. At least two nights. Can't really be sure, I've been sleeping a lot, still injured, you know. Too much time not to notice hunger or thirst, I'd think."

"Weird. Different dimension? Um, leaving now!" She waved a little wave at them and disappeared. Trying to be tactful, Spike assumed.

Buffy turned a troubled face to Spike, looking as if she was going to say something. After several false starts, she did.

"Spike. I'm sorry. I thought I was dreaming. I didn't mean, you know, to do that again. Go there with you."

"Why dream of it, then?" he said evenly. "Isn't that a place where your deepest desires live, where you think of what you would do without normal rules and limitations?"

Buffy bit her lip. "What you want isn't always the right thing."

"What about sleeping with me in the basement? Still want me, then?"

"Now you're gonna question that?"

Spike was silent.

"Okay. I do want you. You knew that already. I just..."

She sat there on her knees, looking miserable and guilty, and Spike didn't have the heart to push her.

"Off you go then," he said resignedly. "We'll just pretend it didn't happen."

For a moment she looked him full in the face, eyes brimming with some emotion, but then she closed her eyes, moved her lips a little and disappeared.

Spike felt an urge to stare at the place Buffy had been sitting, but forced himself to look at the orange flames. So, nothing had really changed, not like he thought it had. Buffy still couldn't bear to own up to her best friend what she really wanted. He'd thought the sleeping together in the basement had been a beginning. But knowing now that he'd met the real Buffy, in what he thought was a dream, showed him it had just been another false start.


	4. Chapter 4

Buffy opened her eyes to find herself back in the real cave with Willow and the others. Kennedy and Molly were sleeping on the bare rock floor; the other girls were still kneeling in their petrified praying postures. Praying to Artemis because they were virgins, according to Spike.  
She still felt like crying. Her head tried to tell her she'd done the right thing, but her gut wasn't so sure. There seemed to be a kind of tension coiling there, on the scale of a driving-test or SATs, drawing her intestines in a tight knot. It felt as if she hadn't studied, didn't know left from right and was not going to get into college.

Why was it so hard to identify the right choice? Nothing seemed simple anymore. There wasn't the sense of hopelessness she'd felt last year, but the uncertainty about doing the right thing , the feeling of navigating through nearly indistinguishable shades of gray remained. Did she have to be General Buffy? Well, who else could do it? It just didn't seem fair she had to handle being a surrogate mother, counselor, friend, daughter and lover as well.

She sniffled a little, involuntarily, and was struck by the limestone smell and the faint hollowness of the small sound.

"It smells just like the other cave, Will," she said softly, not wanting to wake the others. "How can we know that this is real? Like Spike said, we haven't been eating or drinking or peeing or anything. This could be an illusion, too."

"But..." Willow started, but she too was unable to come up with a solid rebuttal to this point. "In the real reality, we are really gone. Something is doing something to us."

"I know. I meant, there's less point in us looking for a way out, if this is not a real place. There could be nothing behind those walls."

"'kay, I get it. If we want out, we might only be able to do it by traveling with our minds."

"Right."

Buffy was silent again. Talking about their situation had made her forget for a bit why she was feeling so crappy, but it hit again the moment she stopped talking. Did she even want to get out? Being stuck here had felt like a time-out from all her problems, and dreaming of Spike had seemed a natural follow-up to that. Not dreaming, but really meeting Spike on a thought-plane was far from problem- and consequence-free, the opposite of convenient, in fact.

"Buffy?" Willow ventured carefully. "Are you okay?"

"How could I be? I feel like hell." Maybe she could talk to Willow about it.

"Yeah, I can imagine. It didn't seem real, you and Spike..."

Maybe not so easily, after all. "You remember it was real, last year?"

She saw several expressions flit over Willow's face.

"Yes, but... But you said you'd never - That you were over him. Gallons of no, and so forth."

Buffy frowned. "I don't think *we* talked about Spike at all, Will. You must have heard this from other people."

Willow swallowed. "I'm sorry, Buffy. I'm sorry you haven't been able to talk to me about this. I don't want to judge you. I want to support you in whatever you decide, be a good friend to you."

Perhaps she could tell Willow about all the nights she'd spent in the basement the past week? About what she had thought were dreams last night, and how they made her feel? More than she had thought possible, that was for sure.

She uncoiled from her cross-legged position and found a somewhat comfortable place against the wall of the cave. "I'm sorry, Will. I want us to talk, but I think there's someone I owe that even more to right now. I hope you can understand that."

Willow looked at her sadly. "I think I'm starting to. Take care, Buffy."

Buffy closed her eyes and willed herself to the other cave. When she opened her eyes again, she saw an orangey glow around a corner, and the diffuse light threw a vastly distorted shadow of Spike on the wall. He was sitting bowed, with his head in his hands. Her heart twanged. A fist closed around it and squeezed hard.

He must know she was back. How had she known he would still be here? She'd just been sure about it, and the implications of that were kind of creepy.

"Spike?" she said and knelt down next to him. Her hand hovered above his head, twitching with indecision, feeling the crisp curls under her hand from tactile memory. He didn't react. Of course, he was going to act like the real Spike did nowadays, careful and waiting for her signals, not as free and joyous as when they'd both thought they were dreaming. It was kind of sad to notice the difference. She had probably seemed as different to him! She remembered giggling and saying things that made her blush when she thought of them now.

She sighed. No point in coming back if she was gonna waffle like this. She was here now, he could hardly not listen to her.

"Spike. I'm sorry. Really sorry. I acted like a jerk, denying again what happened between us. I was just kind of thrown, because I thought I was dreaming, and I..."

"That's alright," he said quietly. "So did I. No need to apologize for that. That's what dreams are for, to do things you don't do in real life."

He still wasn't looking at her.

"But you are mad at me, aren't you? Because I came to sleep with you every night and I didn't tell anybody about it?"

He finally lifted his head and looked at her. "Well, yeah. But maybe more like sad about it. Or about myself. It made me hope, Buffy, and I realize that's just foolish. I should have given that up by now, but I can't seem to help it."

The torture instruments in Buffy's gut cinched tighter. She wasn't saying the right things. Maybe she should start using flash cards like Giles, this was going nowhere. Biting her lip, she moved a little closer and put her hand on his clenched ones. They felt tense, but warm. Spike was warm in his thoughts. The thought threatened to choke her up. He glanced down at her hand and made as if to remove it from his, but uttered a sigh instead and turned a face towards her that was a mix of patience and pain.

He cocked his head a little and regarded her steadily. Waiting. This was it, she guessed. This was the moment of truth, where Buffy Summers was going to show her true colors. Coward or fool, which one would it be? Her heart was galloping like crazy. Damn, she hated it when her body knew what she was going to do before she did.

She released his hand and sat down cross-legged next to the dying fire. "Okay. You win. I care. Now what?"

Spike just stared at her, mouth hanging slightly open. Not his cutest look, but she thought it was kind of endearing. This was, after all, a moment he had worked towards for about three years.

"Well? That's it? I thought you'd be happier. Smile a little, do a dance of joy? Roar? Kiss me or something?"

"Buffy. I'm not sure I'm hearing this right. Could you please repeat it?" His voice sounded strangled, and she could see his throat working. She flinched inwardly. Who could blame him for needing this spelled out three times, bold, with extra spacing? She'd trained him not to expect anything from her but pain and rejection.

She felt a nervous giggle escape her mouth. So not how she had pictured this moment in her teenage dreams. Of course, then she had dreamt of romantic candlelit dinners, violins playing in the background, and possibly the reading of poetry and hand kissing; not scenes from a horror movie where the world nearly ends and the battered hero and heroine find each other after the apocalypse has been averted at the last possible moment. Which was not even very accurate, as the apocalypse was still coming soon to a Hellmouth near you, but there was really no one she‘d rather share apocalypses with.

"I care about you, Spike. A lot." It was even harder to say the second time. Wasn't it supposed to get easier?

Spike still had that dazed look, but he uncrossed his legs, sat up on his knees with the old, impossible suppleness, and took her shoulder in a bruising grip.

"Is this it, Buffy? Is this where you tell me? Do you mean you are gonna let me stand by you?"

"I do. Although death is probably gonna part us sooner rather than later..."

What the hell was she babbling about? Did she really intend that level of commitment? She gripped his ribcage in a death hug and now he was staring into her eyes as if she would disappear if he blinked or looked away for a moment.

The urge to act, to touch him, to do anything but stare into his soul like that was overwhelming. Her gut was giving her an ‘all clear', even a ‘we have lift-off', but she was still scared. This was putting all her money in one place, noir, impair. Faites vos jeux, Mesdames et Messieurs, faites vos jeux. The wheel was about to stop, and this was the last chance to hedge her bets. She left her chips where she had put them and kept on looking back.

"Buffy, I..." He looked so flummoxed, so helpless. "This is...this is...I don't know what to say."

"I'm thinking actions would speak louder than words." She took his chin in one hand and kissed him on the mouth, a little clumsily because of his slow reaction and all the elbows and knees between them. Clumsy was new, too. He clasped her hand and immediately drew back with an exclamation of surprise.

"So you did take my ring! Why are you wearing it if you weren't sure before..."

"I'm not wearing it! It's in the pocket of my jeans!" Her mouth was still saying this as she looked at her own left hand. Yep. The fug-ugly skull ring, Goth meets Pimp-Daddy edition, was on her ring finger all right.

Spike held her hand in his and looked at it with a faint gleam in his eye that made her heart's gallop falter for a moment. "I'm sure in reality it is in your pocket. In your cave. This, here, is only a representation of Buffy you made in your mind. I guess in your mind you wear my ring..."

She could only blush.

"But the next question is, why was it in your pocket?"

He drew back. All the way back, letting go of her hand, and regarded her with gentle amusement. "Scary, innit?"

"Yeah."

Her lips felt cold and stiff and numb with fear. He was right, it was downright scary. Why had he let go of her hand?

"Why is it like that? Don't you love me anymore?"

"Of course I do. I'll always love you."

He looked at her with such complete and utter surrender that a new fear started up in the pit of her stomach. This was so different. She was so afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing at this crucial moment that she was unable to move. Awkward was the understatement of the month, she was paralyzed. There were supposed to be huge happy feelings if you told the guy you loved him, not this sense of impending doom, of something inexorable gaining momentum and barreling towards them.

Without consciously having made a decision, she was kissing Spike again, and she closed her yes so she could shut out all sensation except for the feel of his lips on hers. No more awkwardness now, tracing the outline of those full lips with her tongue, feeling them move and respond, her tongue meeting his with that electrifying thrill. The taste was a recent memory, a basement memory, Spike without tobacco or booze.

Buffy half opened her eyes to look at his rapt face, so close, thick dark eyelashes fluttering faintly. His cheek so smooth against hers, nose to nose, skin to skin. Her heart twanged again, no longer in minor key.

Spike cupped his hands around her face, god, she had never let him do that before, way too tender a gesture, and he looked wonderingly back at her. He looked so young, so vulnerable like that. She vowed fiercely never to hurt him again. No one and no thing were going to hurt him if she had anything to say about it.

His hands moved from her arms to her shoulders, pulling her closer to him. Buffy gasped as her breasts were pressed against his chest, feeling her nipples hardening at that contact. This incredibly melty feeling was liquefying her whole body. Spike drew her head in the crook of his neck. She realized his hand was almost big enough to cup her head. They stayed like that for long moments.

There was no hurry here, Buffy thought, they would take their time from now on...She pushed thoughts of expiration dates versus immortality far away and locked them in a dark cupboard.

"Gonna get you out, sweetheart," Spike said in her hair. "Then I will really hold you."

She sighed, months of tension leaving her body with her breath. "I want to make love to you in my own bed and never get up again. Except maybe to get some ice cream so I can lick it off you."

She felt his smile in the muscles of his neck. "My thoughts exactly."

***

When Spike woke up, his elation threatened to lift him straight off the cot and bounce him off the walls. It was impossible to stay in bed one moment longer. He couldn't quite grasp yet what had happened. Could it really be true? Could all his suffering and hopeless months of waiting be over? The happiness couldn't be contained, it just was. He took a calming breath. Breakfast, shower, blood, find Buffy. Life was impossibly good, even when he considered the dangerous situation they were in. He didn't want to be anywhere else.

Going up the stairs, he tried to reset his face to neutral, but wasn't sure how successful that was. He thought of breakfast and realized it was dark outside. Had he been asleep so briefly or so long?

"Good evening, all," he said carefully.

"Back already?" Xander said, without noticeable malice. He was drinking beer. Giles was staring morosely into a glass of what looked like scotch. Andrew wasn't around.

Spike felt hungry, and ignoring the idea that he'd fed a couple of hours ago he headed for the fridge again.

"Did the books deliver the goods, Rupert?" he asked Giles, eyeing the scotch. Where was Rupert stashing it?

"No, they didn't," Giles said without looking up. "She's not in my usual demonology books at all. Of course, if she really is the ancient Greek goddess Artemis..." He dipped two fingers in his scotch and flicked a few drops to the kitchen floor, "we would probably just pour some wine on the earth or the altar and that would be a prayer..."

The world went fuzzy for a moment, as if there was a local brownout, and a tall athletic looking woman in a short draped dress stood leaning against the kitchen sink.

"Well done," she said in a rich contralto. "I was afraid I'd have to do it all by myself!"

Spike stood gaping. He could well believe she'd been a true goddess once. There was a presence to her, a shine he'd never seen in a demon before; nor had Glory possessed that kind of glamour, even discounting the awful fashion sense. She gave even the mundane counter clutter and drying dishes a reflected glow.

"Artemis?" Giles stuttered out.

"Indeed. Milady would be fine, too. I don't stand on ceremony anymore, I take what I can get. "She crossed her arms before her imposing chest and started pacing.

"So, gentlemen, what have we got here? You know I have your women?"

"Virgins, most of them,' Giles said hastily. "Surely you wouldn't harm them?"

"The maidens will be returned unharmed. But I must ask a favor in return. I need a boon that I can receive in a special way only, and for that, I've been forced to use you gentlemen. As you must be aware, balance must be maintained. To gain my desire, I have to give something in return. You are going to provide that gift."

Giles looked confused and a little disgusted. "This is just a ransom demand?"

"No need to be crude!"

Spike waited until she had turned her back on him and pounced. Without looking up, she lifted one arm and smacked him through the door halfway into the living room. Great plan, Spike. Remember Glory? With difficulty, he got up and gingerly made his way back to the kitchen, where Xander and Giles were sitting like frozen rabbits, staring at the gesticulating goddess. He felt rather than saw Andrew sidle up and peek into the kitchen.

"...will have to yield these offerings willingly. I could take what I needed, to restore the one I love, but the balance demands willingness. Hence, the kidnapping."

She turned her head and greeted him with a chilling stare. She had a high-nosed classical beauty, and a body like a Greek statue, which meant she would tower over Buffy and most of the girls. She stared down at him, and one corner of her mouth turned up in a semblance of a smile.

"I can simply take what I want," she repeated and lifted her hand imperiously.

Xander gripped his cheeks." Ouch! What did you do, ouch?"

"I don't like technology and artifice," she said contemptuously and waved her hand at Giles and Spike. Giles clapped his hands to his eyes, his face spasming involuntarily. Spike felt nothing.

"The other one, I will leave intact for now," Artemis said. "Think on my offer: If you give me willingly what I need, a sacrifice one might call it, your women will be returned to you. I will return here tomorrow."

She disappeared. The lighting dimmed momentarily and the microwave pinged. For a short moment, they all remained frozen, staring at the spot Artemis had been standing.

"What did she do?" Spike asked worriedly.

"Oh man, my fillings, ow, I think she took all of them, look at my teeth!" Xander complained loudly and opened his mouth wide to show Giles and Spike the empty holes in his back teeth.

"She ruined my glasses," Giles said. "The lenses are cracked. Bugger. Artifice and technology. Spike, hit me!"

"What?" But he knew full well what Giles was talking about. His chip must be out. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Wouldn't matter too much with the soul and all, would it? But would it bother Buffy?

He lifted his hand and slapped Giles cheek. He felt no pain.

"Harder!" Xander said. "That little tap hardly would have made it go off, anyway."

"Well, why don't I hit you, since you are so much more annoying!" Spike said, and acted on his words. Xander picked himself off of the floor with a grimace.

"Okay, so now we know you're off the leash. Should I feel unsafe now?"

"Suit yourself," Spike answered tiredly. "I have no more intention of harming you than five minutes ago."

He sank down on a stool and grabbed Giles' glass. He needed a bloody drink. Happiness was a pretty unstable feeling, really. It already seemed elusive again, and not an hour had passed since he'd woken up in the basement ready to sing and dance. He needed to talk to Buffy. The sooner she knew about the chip the better.

The scotch revived him a little. "Did you catch what she wanted our willing sacrifices for, Rupes?"

"She wants to restore her loved one," Giles cited. "I'm guessing, but either it's one of the classic human lovers or males associated with her, like Hippolytus or Actaion, or it's a new one who suffered the same fate. She might be repeating the same history over and over, always losing the mortal she loves to the same fate? What do you think, Spike?"

"I have no special insight in the psyche of ex-goddesses, Rupert. What makes you think I would?'

"Well, you're not exactly human yourself, Spike. Your immortal perspective is probably closer than ours."

"Bollocks, Giles. Hundred and fifty years versus a couple of thousand? Hell of a difference. Vampires and gods, also not the same thing at all. Let's get back on topic. Any idea what kind of sacrifice the bitch wants?"

"None. My guess would be not the microwave."

Andrew made an involuntary step in the direction of that device. Spike threw him an exasperated look.

Giles caught sight of his empty glass, and with a reproachful look at Spike got up to retrieve a bottle from a pail under the sink.

"Whoa, we finally found out where Giles keeps the booze!" Xander said.

"Hadn't found this one yet," Spike said. "In the magic box it was under the counter, far as I remember."

Giles looked slightly peeved, but after only minimal hesitation poured each of them a glass. Spike downed his in one great gulp and cleared his throat.

"I found out some new facts, too, mates," he said.

Giles eyebrows rose. "Dreaming again? Of, um.,...?"

"Yeah," Spike said defensively. "But it was real, I met the girls - Willow and Buffy - on a kind of plane of thought - this time," he amended quickly.

"Everyone alright? Dawnie?" Xander asked.

"Didn't see them, just Willow and Buffy. They said everyone was accounted for. In a cave, they were. Willow said to do a locator spell, Giles. She can't do magic, bounces back to her in there."

"Hey, Spike? You talked to the real Buffy, huh? No boinking now, I'm guessing?"

"Drop it, Xander," Giles said authoritatively. "Spike knows better than to try anything, don't you Spike?"

Giles' eyes conveyed many messages to Spike, none of which he wanted to hear. This was so difficult. Holding the knowledge inside, where it burned and danced and wanted to burst out and be shouted from the rooftops! Best say nothing at all. Once his mouth was open he could usually do bugger all to control it. He clenched his jaws and looked desperately at the scotch. Giles caught the look and slid the bottle over to him.

"Have one, Spike," he said encouragingly.

Spike sloshed an inch of scotch in his glass and shoved the bottle back to Giles. He caught a look from the watcher that froze him from the neck down. It held about triple the amount of distrust Giles had shown in their ‘talk' yesterday. So much for Giles' supposedly lukewarm reaction to the loss of the chip. Spike was surprised to realize that he felt hurt and disappointed, even after their less than pleasant talk yesterday. Hadn't Giles been the only one to treat him almost as a human being when he was first chipped, even going so far as to ask him to think about joining the side of the good? He shivered a little, and was glad Giles didn't know yet about Buffy's decision. That might just earn him a stake in the back at the earliest opportunity.


	5. Chapter 5

"Well?" Spike let the question hung in the air. "Not gonna wait here like little lambs until she comes back, are we? We need to stop her. Bitch is gonna take more than a couple of fillings next time."

Spike started pacing. Andrew clutched the doorpost, Giles and Xander sat hunched and defeated at the counter. Spike could feel something of the terrible seduction of hopelessness, of just giving in to the circumstances, but he knew Buffy would always go down fighting. Buffy would never give up. He stood in front of Giles and tried to will him into action with his eyes.

"Rupert? Harris? For Buffy! For Willow and Dawn! You can't just give up! They wouldn't if it was us!"

"I need to get to a dentist," Xander moaned. "I have insurance."

"Oh, shut up, Xander," Giles said tiredly. "We all have our little problems."

"Is that so? Don't see bleach boy here losing something important to him! Are you in league with her, Spike?"

"Xander - really - while I'm not at all happy to have an unmuzzled Spike around, I very much doubt he was in on it. Not exactly designed to make Buffy happy, is it?"

The statement landed in Spike's stomach with a sickening thud. Would she mind? He had no idea. Of course he realized that without the chip, he would never have loved Buffy, would never have done any of the things he'd been busy with the past four years, but the bloody thing had served its purpose. The soul would restrain him far more effectively than the chip - if he let it. He suspected his soul had become unlike ordinary human souls, because they never stopped people from doing wrong. His soul must be the heavy-duty kind, manufactured with extra guilt features and a leaden mass of conscience, and it was weighing him down so much he sometimes found it hard to stand upright. He knew he moved differently, stiffly, pressing his shoulders back and his chin up, pushing against the heaviness of the soul.

Spike dragged himself forcibly out of the quicksand thoughts and grasped at a memory from last night.

"Clem. Clem said something about her boyfriends ending up in little pieces. He might know more, we could ask their families or something."

He saw Giles right his back with an effort and reach for his glasses, and give up when he realized anew they were useless. He stood up and cleared his throat. "Yes. Indeed. Andrew, you will have to help me with the books, as I can't read right now. Xander and Spike can go visit Clem."

"Hey!" Xander protested. "My teeth! You can't expect me to do this without my teeth!"

"I can and I do, Xander. You'll just have to muddle through driving with sore teeth, difficult as that may seem."

"I resent that. I know that was sarcasm, okay, and you just don't know what pain I'm in right now!" But being Xander, he moved to get his coat and car keys as he spoke.

"You drive, Spike. It's late and my teeth hurt." Xander handed over the car keys to Spike, and was moving to the passenger side of the car before Spike could even manage to snap his jaw back into place.

"You don't have to come along," he offered. "I can talk to Clem just fine on my own." Keeping Harris out of the wind. Would wonders never cease?

"No, that's fine," Xander said, not looking him in the eye.

Right. A definite element of keeping an eye on unchipped Spike, there was.

"Clem still living in your crypt?"

"Yeah. Wanted to start there. We can always go to Willy's if he isn't home."

"Do you miss your comfy crypt, the whole surrounded by mementos of death kind of thing?"

"I miss the peace and quiet alright. Don't miss the corpses and the sewer-smell. But all those little girls getting underfoot..." He could see what Harris was trying to do, distract himself, but it was hard to play along, as he'd never heard him voice an opinion he could agree with.

"You're not wrong, bleach boy. Women. Can't do without them, huh?"

Spike declined to answer. What did Harris imagine women were for? Rolling up his socks and cleaning his kitchen? Not like he'd ever really appreciated the demon girl.

When they finally tracked Clem down in one of the lesser-known demon bars in town, they were both way past tired and cranky. Clem could only point them to one of his mates, who might have known the sister of the demon boy that had been torn apart. When they went in to Willy's for the third time that night, looking for their next contact, Spike was about ready to tear Xander's head off. Their following stop was the sewer entrance near the Magic Box. The family of the boy was said to live in a disused tunnel about halfway between the Sunnydale town center and Restfield cemetery. They were sloshing towards it through knee-high sewer water, having to walk carefully because of the unnamed substances making the sewer floor slippery.

"Wait up, Spike," Xander begged. "I'm bushed. I can't do this anymore."

"We have to do this now, Harris!" Spike said through clenched teeth. "It's nearly dawn, in about twelve hours the bloody goddess is going to ask us for not-so-pleasant sacrifices, and we still have nothing!"

It still took more than an hour before they found the entrance to the lair, and by then they were thoroughly wet, smelly and dispirited.

Xander acquired more compassion for demons in the uncomfortable half-hour that followed than he'd ever felt before - which, admittedly, was just about zero. The small family, father, mother and sister stood nervously around Spike, wringing their fragile tentacles, brokenly telling the tale of the brother and son that had never come home. How when they had tracked him by the scent of his gore, there had been nothing to find but little pieces of green flesh. Other than that, they knew nothing. That he had had a girlfriend, sure, but neither they nor their extended family had been able to find her anywhere in Sunnydale or the worlds that could be reached by easily accessible portals.

It took another hour to trudge back, and by then even Spike was shivering. The sun had risen in the meantime, he realized. He looked at Harris. Poor guy. Having to go to work without any sleep at all and great gaping holes in your back teeth was not going to be a ball. At least he could get some, his injuries were aching and he was about to keel over. So much for vamp healing powers and immortal stamina, he was going to plop down onto that cot and not move for the next eight hours. His heart sank as he realized he'd be dreaming of Buffy, and that he would have to tell her about the chip. He had no idea how she would react. Should he mention Giles' reaction? Would she believe him?

****

Buffy careened into him the moment he fell asleep and slammed him up against the wall. Most of him could just think helplessly oh, yeah, more, now, but one part was a little miffed at the level of violence.

"What?" he said, against her frantic mouth working his.

"You weren't there! I'm going stir-crazy here, nothing to do but sit around and wait and you weren't there!" Punctuating the words with Slayer-hard jabs of her fingers in his chest.

"Looking for a goddess, love. Hard work. And you thought it would be a good idea to work off those frustrations on me?"

It took her a moment to wrap her brain around that sentence. "Yeah. Shut up. Make love to me now."

Flat on his back on his duster once again, being ridden at a gallop, Spike thought woozily of the return of bitchy sex-goddess Buffy. She‘d bloody well convinced him that this was something she only did when newly risen from the dead and in the grips of depression. He remembered knowing differently, knowing for sure, but somewhere between the bathroom and the soul and being insane all that knowledge had slipped away from him. Right, clearly she wanted him rough, tough, and bad, only with the soul.

He should tell her something. Chip. The way she ground down on him made the thought fracture and disperse. He flipped her over with a growl, held one golden leg tight against his chest and started slamming into her the way he remembered so well was her favorite. God, they still knew each other's bodies inside out, look at her mewling and scratching the sand. He wished she would grab his balls now and hey presto, she did, and there was no more room for wishing in his totally fried mind right now.

In the middle of leisurely giving her a third orgasm, he paused as the stray thought found its home once more and lifted his head. "Buffy. Artemis took my chip."

She lifted her upper body on her elbows. "Huh?"

"She visited us. Ruined Giles' glasses, took Harris' fillings and my chip."

She was blinking owlishly, not concentrating too well, he saw. Well, his bad, should have waited until after. She pushed his head back down. "Tell me later."

When they'd finally wrung the last drop of energy out of each other and she lay warm and limp on his chest, playing weakly with his hair, she returned to the topic of the chip.

"Well. It's out. I can harm people again."

She pondered this an unconscionably long time. "Huh. Could you kill a human being?"

He almost flipped her off his chest. "What the hell are you thinking? You think I'd want to try that out?" Bitch.

She scooted upwards a little and looked at him earnestly, big hazel eyes free of make-up. "Sorry. Being flippant." She peppered little kisses on his face. "Love you." Her breath hitched as she said it and he could hear her heart thumping wildly, faster then when they were fucking. His intrepid Slayer, afraid of all the soft things. His girl, though.

******

"Well, Spike, had a nice rest?"

"What did the Buffster say about the chip, Spike?"

Bunch of gleeful vultures staring at him. What now? Could they tell?

"Um, well, gave her a blow-by blow account" -wrong imagery, you ponce, do you have to point their minds in that direction? "- of our research and results and, um, Artemis."

Could he possibly sound any more as if someone had fucked his brains out for hours? He needed blood. Giles sat tiredly rubbing his eyes, Xander was moving his tongue around in his mouth like an old man fiddling with his dentures.

"So, um, Rupert, did you and the little boy find anything useful?"

Giles's hand moved to his face, only to realize again there were no glasses. "Not in the books, but of course I have a lifetime of accumulated knowledge myself, and I think what we're dealing with is the kind of balance that's always important in magic, for example in fairy tales. You'll remember there are often wishes granted by witches or monsters, or sacrifices demanded. The hero or heroine is always tricked into giving something away that's really important to them."

"In fairy tales there always is a happy ending," Andrew chirped, happy to contribute.

"Thank you, Andrew. I certainly hope that we will manage to wrest a good ending from the fates. My fear is that we have tacitly agreed to an exchange, thereby satisfying the rules of the game, and that we can be forced to give up things that we wouldn't like to give up."

"Such as?

""Your firstborn child?" Andrew again.

"Yes, indeed, that is the idea." Giles nodded grudgingly to the boy.

"We will just have to sneak up to the campfire and listen to the goddess sing out her secret name!"

"You do remember we're dealing with Artemis and not with Rumpelstiltkin? That we know her real name, and that can't possibly be the secret she's hiding?"

"Could I be forced to give something up that's like my firstborn child that I don't have? Like my car?" Xander didn't seem scared enough, in Spike's opinion.

"Possibly." Giles didn't sound as if he cared one jot about Xander's precious car, Spike noted gleefully. "Still, Andrew, you gave me the germ of an idea. I think we should try to imprison her when she returns and force her to return the girls to us. Any exchange she's willing to make is bound to be unfavorable to us."

"That's the Giles we all know and love!" Xander hugged Giles, clearly as relieved as Spike was at the return of the Giles who always had a solution to everything. They got busy with magic sand and the looking up of binding spells, the activity masking their lack of a real counter plan. The binding spells took a lot of time and the evening had turned into night by the time they were done.

With the same suddenness and buzzing-ears brownout effect as the night before the goddess arrived into the middle of the power circle. She raised her perfect brows at the evil-colored magic sand and stepped out of the circle without so much as a flick of her fingers.

"Nice effort, boys," she said disdainfully. "Unfortunately, I'm not a demon to be summoned and bound that way."

Spike's heart sank at the dismayed expression on Giles' face. He knew very well they had nothing else, but had still been hoping on a bit of extra from the Watcher.

"And now for the real thing. Are you ready to sacrifice all for the women you love? It's a big deal, you know. Recreating something out of nothing. First, I need me a little basic substance."

She crooked her finger at Andrew. He walked towards her like a puppet on a string, looking back at the others with a helpless plea in his eyes. Artemis looked him up and down, turned him around a few times and checked his teeth.

"A perfect blank slate," she pronounced. "Not good, not evil, not much of anything. No fixed sexual orientation, no morals. He'll do."

"What? I'll do for what?"

Artemis ignored him. She walked up to Xander and poked him in his belly. "The boy's a little weak and skinny, though. I'm going to use some of your ample resources to fill him out. Ready to give up your pound of flesh for the ladies?"

"Huh?" Xander looked around wildly. "Giles? Spike? What does she mean? What does she want from me?"

"Sounds like she wants some of what you've got in plenty, Harris," Spike drawled, amused in spite of himself. "Donating some lard doesn't sound so bad."

"Lard? This is all manly muscle, you skinny corpse!"

So far, this sounded doable. Although it wasn't exactly clear what she intended to do with blank slate Andrew.

"Your ample pearly flesh, my boy," the former goddess crooned to Xander, "is so very attractive to all and sundry in the demon world, you don't know half of it! And the more there is, the more we love you. That's why I need some of it. Not to mention the fact that you're so proud of your ‘construction muscle...' "

Artemis yanked off Xander's check shirt and ripped the T-shirt he was wearing in two. Xander stood revealed in all his manly glory. Without further ado, Artemis plunged her hands into Xander's flesh and started to tear off great chunks of it. There was no blood, but Xander screamed in shock and pain. Spike stood transfixed, fascinated and horrified both. Artemis raked her hands all over Xander's body, adding to what looked like a great ball of cookie dough in her hands. Xander fell down limply, no longer screaming, and Artemis carried the cookie dough over to Andrew. She threw the stuff over Andrew's face, and more screaming ensued. Andrew sank down on the floor, too, kicking his legs and futilely trying to tear the pale stuff off.

Spike tried to move, but was unable to. He could just glance at Giles from the corner of his eyes, and he was wearing a look on his face that must be identical to the one on his own. This was unexpected. They were not prepared for this! How could she do that? Had they somehow consented to this?

Artemis stood up from her sculpting work. The writhing lump of cookie dough, which once had been Andrew and part of Xander's belly, stood up and faced them blankly. It now wore the face of a handsome young man of classical Greek beauty.

She dusted off her hands and threw them a broad smile. "Exciting, isn't it, creation? So much more fun than doing it the old-fashioned way."

Creation? Is that what she called it? And what was she creating here? A lover? He tried to signal to Giles, but he couldn't move his head at all and could only listen to the voice of the goddess. The slippery satisfaction that was oozing from it made his skin crawl.

"That went well, don't you think? And now we have a perfect physical specimen, the ideal blank vessel. But it‘s lacking something. Care to guess what? Oh, you can't, I froze your voice. My loss."

She could have had an attractive laugh.

"I need something precious to you, and this is how it works. That's why I picked you. You have something very interesting to give. The love you bear your surrogate daughter? Well, no, what would I do with it? He'll only have to love me. I just like the fear in your eyes."

A small but fast growing tendril of apprehension took root in Spike's gut. Something precious?

"No, really. What is it that you think makes you worthwhile in other people's eyes? What is your true value in this world? What gains you respect? Oh, you've got it, I can see it in your eyes. Clever man. Your learning is what I'll take, all that lovely book-knowledge, that took so many years and hard work to acquire. Now don't cry! I'm leaving you intelligence. Speech. Language, even. You could always relearn all that stuff, you know?"

Spike heard Giles give a strangled sob. Considerate of her, to return his voice so he could sob. He feared he knew exactly what she was going take from him. Please let him be wrong!

Artemis returned to his field of vision, looking very pleased with herself, the Andrew-thing in tow. It looked different already. It looked at him and he could see it mentally classify him as a vampire, William the Bloody, souled. Or something like that. His insides were a mass of liquid fear and hatred and helplessness.

Artemis put her face close to his and smiled. "I love that. You two are such great donors, so aware of what's happening. Makes it just that crucial bit more fun."

She put her hands on his temples, exerting terrible pressure with those slim feminine hands. Why not take it from his heart?

"Gird your loins, William. Here goes."

Spike thought of the pain and suffering with which he had paid for every step of his journey. Everything he had gained the past years he would lose in a couple of seconds. Buffy. All about Buffy. He didn't regret one drop of heartache he'd spilt to gain this prize. So there had been no more than a couple of precious hours with her? It would have to be enough.

There was nothing like the pain Lurky had given him. There was a lifting of pressure and his soul was gone. Just like that. Except for the terrible lightness he felt, where there had been weight, there was no change.

Artemis blew him a kiss. The thing she'd made stared at him with horrible self-awareness for a moment before they both disappeared.

He could move again.


	6. Chapter 6

Xander was lying on the ground, moaning piteously and patting his newly skinny ribs and arms helplessly, as if searching for the lost flesh.

"You alright?" Spike asked, feeling compelled to ask, in spite of the uselessness of the question.

Xander wouldn't or couldn't answer, and Spike grabbed his chin, to force Xander to look him in the eye.

"Say something," Spike said roughly. Anything to keep his mind off his own predicament.

"She took my body! She took my flesh! Look at me, there's nothing left..."

Xander looked as if he might cry. Spike couldn't really blame him, even if he personally thought the lost flesh could well be missed.

"Can you stand up?" Spike asked. "Or move at all?"

With Spike's assistance, Xander stood up on shaky legs. Everything seemed normal and in working order. Had she really just taken fat and muscle? Spike turned to Giles, who sat on the kitchen floor, his hands resting limply on his thighs, staring at nothing.

"Rupert? How are you doing? Do you remember anything? Do you know who I am?"

There was a flash of irritation in Giles' eyes. "Of course I do. You are Spike. You're a vampire. You annoy me."

"That all? What do you know about vampires?"

Giles made a huffing sound. "Humph! Everything! I know that...I know...nothing. Vampires don't even exist."

Xander uttered a strangled sound. Spike and he shared a horrified look. Xander knelt down and gently tried to take Giles' hand in his, but Giles shook it off with fluttery flapping motions of his hands.

"Giles, it's me, Xander. I'm a normal human being, and your friend. D'you remember that?"

Giles snorted. Spike was a little shocked at this loss of decorum. Didn't seem like Giles, somehow.

"Friend. Huh. Young whippersnapper."

"What?" Xander mouthed at Spike. Spike shrugged.

"Giles? Tell us who you are? What you remember?"

Giles looked at them suspiciously, but gave in. "Help me up first," he said imperiously. He held his chin high, but his hands shook. Spike and Xander helped him to a chair and poured him a drink.

"My name is Rupert Giles, and I'm a Watcher. I watch...Buffy Summers. Who's a ...girl." He looked flummoxed. "That doesn't sound quite right. I'm not the kind of man who watches young girls. Am I?"

"Why don't you check your wallet, Giles?" Xander said. "I'll get your diary, too."

Giles looked up gratefully. "Yes! I remember. I keep a diary. Thank you."

Xander and Spike retreated to the kitchen.

"Spike! What are we going to do!" Xander whispered. "He's not like our Giles anymore! Why is he so different? She just took his knowledge, didn't she?"

Spike shook his head. "She took the thing he was most proud of, that was most bound up with his whole identity. He probably feels like a nobody without his knowledge. Bound to make him cranky and suspicious."

Xander didn't look as if he understood.

"You, Harris, are pretty damn thick and never know anything except useless geeky facts. So, you're not invested in having knowledge. Got it?"

"Huh. What did she take my muscle for"

"Well, apart from needing it to build up the little boy, you must have been proud of it. Symbol of your independence, as a regular guy with a real job?"

Xander pondered that. "Uh-huh. What did she take from you?"

Spike didn't look him in the eye. "What d'you think?"

"I don't know! How would I know what you...Oh. The soul. Really? Your brand-new soul?"

Spike nodded miserably, his throat felt thick and painful.

"That's...well. That's really...Aw, jeez, Spike. I don't know what to say."

They said in awkward silence for a few moments. Spike's limbs felt heavy. He had no idea what to do now.

Footsteps neared the kitchen. Spike looked up slowly, seeing Giles standing in the door opening with a stake in his hands and a wild look in his eyes.

"I read all about you in my diary," Giles hissed. "You're evil. You're after my Buffy, and you won't get her. I'm here to watch over her and protect her from vampires like you. I wrote down what I was going to do to you! I just have to put this stake through your heart and you'll be dead!"

Xander jumped up and stood between then." Giles! Come on! You don't mean this! You should really leave staking Spike to Buffy, I don't think she'd like it if you did it! Besides, he isn't evil anymore! He has a soul now! I mean he had one. Before Artemis took it." His voice petered out and he sat down again. "Oh shit, Spike, does that mean you're evil again? Are we going to have to fight you, too?"

There was a huge popping sound in the kitchen, like an elephant sitting on a roll of bubble wrap and bursting all the bubbles at once. A shimmering rectangle of purple light opened to the left of the counter and one by one all the little Maybe-Slayers were squeezed out, like toothpaste from a tube. Dawn and Willow followed, and Buffy came out last. Not for her the toothpaste mode, she jumped out on her own steam, stake ready, a look in her eyes that said she was ready to take on everything that stood in her way.

Spike observed them all, propped up against the counter, a sick anticipation flooding his whole body. All was wrong again, all was lost. Where to go now, what to do? Maybe Corn-fed could put a new chip in, so he could at least be near her. Maybe she would just stake him on the spot, end his misery.

Buffy's eyes swept the kitchen, discovered him standing at the other end and leapt towards him, a broad smile on her face.

"Spike!"

The joy in her voice wrung his heart. Oh God, how could he tell her? At last, she had been ready to acknowledge her love for him, to herself and her friends, and now she would have to know this.

She flung herself against him and gripped him in a fierce hug.

"Spike," she said again. "Real solid Spike. I'm so glad to actually see you now." She lifted her face up to him for a kiss, and he just couldn't help but kiss her back and hold her as tightly as she did him.

Giles' voice sounded too close by. "Buffy. Step away from him. Now. He's dangerous. And now Artemis has taken his soul."

Giles certainly didn't need many words to convey the truth of the matter, did he? Buffy stepped away from him a little, looking from him to Giles in utter shock, her mouth falling open. Spike nodded slowly. Buffy still held on to him. He felt something hard press in his back, and realized he'd seen his ring on her hand when she'd jumped through the portal. Tears misted his sight and he blinked rapidly. He was in danger right now and shouldn't let himself be distracted. Giles was holding the stake, and trying to pull Buffy out of the way so he could point it at his heart.

"That's right, love," Spike said bitterly. "Back to being an animal now, innit. White hat one moment, blackest evil the next. What are you going to do, stake me right now, kick me out? Or are you gonna let Watcher here do it? He's itching to, you know, has been wanting to do it since the bitch took my chip."

"Xander, come here," Buffy said in a low voice, that nonetheless carried an unmistakable message of command. She didn't look at him anymore. Her attention seemed centered on Giles.

Spike felt a painful sting in his heart, and a slow uncoiling of anger rising from the ash of misery. He wouldn't have thought things could become worse, but having Harris do it? Worse than the Watcher. Rupert was at least an enemy he could respect, but being staked by the former Big Blob was the lowest blow she could have dealt. Buffy herself was the only one he would allow to stake him.

"Xander. Bring Spike to the basement. Don't let anyone in but me, especially not Giles. Keep him safe."

The slow flame of anger banked down again. So. Not yet. Xander put his hands on Spike's shoulder and gently propelled him towards the basement, away from Buffy and Giles. Her hands slid off him slowly. He allowed himself to be led like a lamb, dazed, not understanding what she'd said and why. He stumbled down the last few steps and dropped down on the cot heavily. He looked questioningly at Xander, who shrugged, didn't look at him in horror, but didn't come too close again.

"You okay with the bloodlust right now? Should I manacle you to the wall?"

"What? No! Don't even try. No more chains."

"I'll say this for you; you don't look like bloodthirsty Spike. You look like somebody dropped a ton of bricks on your head. And what's with the hugging of our Buffster?"

Spike didn't answer, too miserable to cater to Xander's curiosity. Xander walked away. He paused at the top of the stairs and looked down on him.

"Spike. Buffy will do the right thing."

"And what's that? Is it in the bloody slayer manual? Do the right thing when your boyfriend loses his sodding soul?"

"In that case, hell dimension for hundreds of years. And, um, boyfriend? You're kidding, right?"

Spike turned his face to the wall, not bothering to answer.

"Oh," Xander said. "Boinking on the dream plane. Ew."

"Get away from me, Harris. You smell way too good," he growled. The yelp Harris uttered, and the little jump he gave before hastily exiting were delicious. Not that he had any intention of following through with the implied threat, but it felt bloody great to be able to inspire some terror again.

The dazed feeling dissipated and his brain cleared. Fuck! He felt feather light, about ready to float up and bash through the ceiling. The whole bleeding weight of the damn soul was lifted, and the squashed demon inside shifted and stretched and stood tall, ready to fight and kill. Except he wouldn't. Not Buffy or Dawn, never them, but not even donkey's arse Harris or suspicious git Giles. Spike knew that if there was even the tiniest chance of staying in Buffy's neighborhood he would take it, and it would, of course, bloody well include not eating people.

The love he felt for Buffy hadn't changed or diminished in the slightest, that love was older than his soul and would withstand a setback or two. On her side it might not be the same, of course. Had taken her long enough to accept her love for him. And now? If she didn't stake him, she would banish him from her sight and he couldn't blame her for it. He'd forget what was right and wrong again, even if he still remembered it now, make stupid mistakes again with the best intentions. Demon eggs. Fatal Bathroom Mistakes. Oh god, was he buggered and bollixed.

There was a slight sound near the basement door and it started to open. Before the scent had reached his nostrils, he already knew it was Buffy. Tension coiled tightly in his guts. He pushed back at the demon who was trying to shift his features.

She hadn't even showered or changed her clothes yet. The gorgeous over-the-top-ness of her scent wafted towards him, and the demon and the man both hungered at the rush of blood through her veins, the agitated pumping of her heart, the hectic flush on her cheeks.

She walked over to him, her feet bare, he saw now, biting her lip and not looking up. When she lifted her eyes to his, their glance was like a blow.

"Spike," she said, one word only, and he was already crushing her into his arms. When had he decided on that? No restraint any more, and kissing her with the passion of the damned.

"Love you so much, Buffy," he panted against her lips, and he felt her chest hitch in a little sob. He drew back and stared at her.

"You're not - I was afraid you'd be different. That you wouldn't love me anymore."

"Don't be daft, sweetheart. Loved you before the soul, didn't I? Couldn't ever stop loving you. But I am different. Didn't get the soul for nothing, remember?" He wasn't going to say the name, but he knew she was thinking of Angelus, and what he'd done when he lost his soul. Brilliant extra motivation for him to stay on the straight and narrow, spiting and bettering his hated grandsire. He could work with his baser instincts on this for once.

They continued to kiss and clutch at each other in desperation, and his cock and his demon fought each other for dominance. Fuck first, kill later, he thought. No, not her.

She pushed him on the cot. "How different will you be? Like when you were just vamped?" She was unbuttoning his shirt with so much haste and unnecessary Slayer strength that half of the buttons went flying.

He tried to think through the incredible arousal her body and her blood scent brought him. The feeling of her hot fingers on his chest made him arch his back and he growled loudly. A faint voice suggested something about the others hearing him but he ignored it. They had better know she was his, and his only, and a good way to let them know that was to make them listen in on their sounds.

What had she been asking? When he'd first been vamped?

"Loved being turned. Loved the feeling of freedom. I loved being free of my life, of the old me. Don't feel- I don't feel that now. I won't push the feelings away. Want to be with you, be a man for you."

He growled again at hearing the poncey babble escaping from his lips. He flipped her over on the cot and started tearing her clothes off. She was his. Her neck, her glorious soft-skinned neck. He ignored her lace-covered breasts and started sucking on the hotly quivering vein he could sense just beneath the delicate skin. The demon kept pushing and pushing at him to break the skin and drink her, drink the sweet hot coppery liquid straight from the vein, he could almost feel it gushing, fountaining in his throat. Drink her and fuck her ‘til she's...

With an agonized roar, he rolled off the cot and backed off to a corner.

"Get away from me, Buffy. I can't do this."

She walked right up to him and gripped his hands in hers. Why wouldn't she listen? Why not do as he said for fucking once, brass-nosed bitch?

"Spike. Spike! Look at me. You can do this. I know you can. I trust you. I'll help you."

She kept looking at him with those ridiculously soft big eyes, didn't she know that was going to replace the crushing weight of his soul with the heavier burden of trust? Didn't she know he would break under that? His souled self had welcomed each added burden and penance, soul, trust, belief, love, whatever she wanted to put on him, he'd taken it and longed for more. This self, this demonic Spike, resented all that, felt it was being shackled, being walled up, each word a brick.

"Spike, you did this before, when you had the chip. Why is it so much harder now?"

He shook his head.

"Dunno. Maybe the demon resents the soul, wants his own back. Knows he can, without the chip."

With her greater strength, she drew him out of the corner.

"I'm not gonna go easy on you, Spike. No manacles for you. You'll have to do it yourself. Come on, we're gonna go up. Dawn is watching over Giles. He crossed a line there in the kitchen, trying to stake you without my permission. You're mine, for better or worse, and he'd better respect that."

"Buffy, the man had a bad shock. The bleeding goddess took all his hard-won knowledge. He doesn't know up from down right now!"

Buffy regarded him fondly." See? Insights, even now. I knew you could do it!"

They neatened their clothes as much as was possible. She tugged him towards the stairs. He followed, tamed again by confusion. Up? They were going upstairs? He was led by the hand into the hallway, and then they walked further upstairs. To her bedroom. He'd only snuck in her old room a couple of times, her silly teenage frilly room where Willow now slept. But he had only been in this holy chapel of Buffiness once, and then tied up. She probably was going to tie him up again. The demon didn't like that at all. Tying Buffy to the bed, now, that would be fun.

"You going to tie me up, love?"

She just raised her eyebrows at that and pushed him down on the bed, starting to strip off her clothes matter-of-factly.

"I need a shower, I probably smell to high heaven."

He felt the smirk forming on his face, drawling, "Oh yeah, love, that you do, in the best way, love to stick my nose in that smell a bit more..."

She turned to him, a shy look on her face, and stepped closer. "Really? Where exactly?"

Sodding Americans with their two showers a day, washing away the good earthy womanly scents, that unique Buffy-aroma, that she probably thought smelled nasty. It was the most powerful aphrodisiac he had ever smelled. After she'd slayed it was ten times as strong, times were he could follow her trail from a mile away.

He grabbed her, came off a bit more rough than he'd intended, but she didn't seem to mind. He rent her flimsy bit of underwear off her and shoved a finger in the place where she smelled strongest, he knew she'd be wet there, and she was, all that honey just dripping off his fingers. He held the finger under her nose, and then licked it off with relish.

"Best scent ever. Best taste in the world, Buffy," he said huskily, and he could see that she was liking this so much, this slightly rough direct play was even hotter for her than all the soulful words and restraint, he could tell. If he'd still had the soul, it might even have saddened him to see his old self preferred to the new one. His Slayer responded in kind, all afire, throwing him on the bed and yanking off his jeans and just climbing on top off him without much ado. And of course he was hard for her, he always was.

She rode him mercilessly, flipping him on his back every time he tried to turn her over and get the upper hand, and god, how he liked that. His harsh mistress. He roared without shame when she made him come harder than ever, scrunching his eyes shut against the bright glare of the love on her face, and only noticed when he opened them again that she was crying.

"I'm sorry, Spike," she said. "I'm so sorry, I love you, but you need the soul, I need the soul, I'm not strong enough to help you."

Icy fingers dug in his gut, and he forced the question through numb lips, "What do you mean, love?"

She was crying too hard to talk, and he gathered her in his arms and tried to comfort her.

"I loved you like this before, I'm sorry I never told you, but I did, and I'm so afraid I'll be that Buffy again. It's so seductive, so easy to follow you into the darkness."

Spike didn't understand. "What we did just now? Was that darkness?" Was it? He tried to grasp the possible wrongness of two consenting adults doing mutually agreeable things to each other as being wrong, but he just couldn't.

She shook her head. "No, not yet, but I could feel that you would let me hurt you, and I wanted to, and that's..."

He was relieved that their fucking hadn't been wrong, but he realized with a pang that he couldn't make the distinction. Something in him leapt at the mental picture of being delightfully hurt by Buffy, hurting her back, skirting again that fine edge between pleasure and pain. He remembered though that she thought it was wrong, dangerous. He had to hold on to that memory.

"What are you saying then, love? Should I go away? To protect you from yourself? I will if you tell me I must."

"Spike, don't you dare leave me. You can be good."

No he couldn't. He could probably give a shot at not being bad, but he knew he couldn't be good.

"Don't say that. Utter bollocks. You're the Slayer, I'm an evil vampire."

"Not so evil, Spike, not so evil at all."

She gently and thoughtfully drew her thumbs over his eyebrows, made little circles on his cheekbones, finally stopped and tugged at his earlobes. He could just about see a plan forming in her eyes, dreading it, but at the same time rejoicing in her every aspect.

She set her jaw and got off the bed. He watched in amazement and admiration as she dragged a suitcase from under the bed and started throwing clothes in, summer clothes by the look of it.

"You going somewhere, Buffy?" he ventured. She looked like a woman who knew what she was doing.

"Duh! We are going somewhere. To Africa, of course. We need to get you another soul."

Spike was appalled. He couldn't speak. He was going to have to go through that again? She really knew how to ask for the impossible. The chip might be an easier option.

"Don't look like that, Spike. You won't have to go through the torture again. I'll be your champion."

She'd do that for him? Woozy with love and gratitude he almost fell off the bed and dropped to his knees in front of her, burying his face in her belly. He crushed her to him as hard as he could. He felt her hands burrow in his hair.

"Buffy," he said thickly. "Please. Your duty is here. You can't do that for me, I'm not worth it. You have to defeat the First, protect everyone."

He looked up at her. She looked down grimly, her jaw set. "Is that so? I've made my choice, Spike, and that choice is you. And don't try to tell me what to do. Pack your stuff."

Even Spike in his present confused state knew traveling to Africa right now wasn't an option. He shrugged, at a loss how to persuade her. "I don't have anything to pack, love. I'm ready."

Buffy threw him a dazzling, unexpected smile. "You have one thing! You forgot this in the basement."

She held the duster up to him with a pleased, expectant look on her face.

Spike was speechless again. He dimly remembered hating the damn thing at seeing it again, and when he'd found himself wearing it on the dream plane, but all he could feel now was pleasure at reclaiming his lost trophy. He took it from her and caressed the worn leather.

"Do you know who this belonged to?"

Buffy looked pleased at his reaction, and shook her head at the question. "I probably don't wanna know, huh?"

Spike shrugged. "Guess not, love. You know what I am - what I was, no need for the gory details, right?"

He saw her smile waver for a moment, but then she plastered it back on determinedly. "Let's go, baby. We'll have to tell the others where we're going."


	7. Chapter 7

Spike followed as Buffy lugged her three suitcases down the stairs. He was still feeling oddly unbalanced, still trying to figure out who and what he was exactly. It was like a puzzle, he could see all the pieces, but he didn't know where they were supposed to go. He just pushed pieces together at random, and sometimes he got lucky and they fit.

One thing he knew for certain was the sense of wrongness he felt about her Africa plans. He knew he hadn't used the right arguments to convince her not to go, and he had to admit he hadn't really tried to find them. It just had felt so wonderful that she was ready to give everything up for him. He could see that it made her happy, too, happy that she could give something back to him.

Halfway down the stairs, the sound of many voices raised in heated discussion reached them. Buffy plunked the huge bags down in the hall and marched into the dining room.

"Silence!" she shouted. Several people tried to explain the situation to her, unfortunately all at once. He saw her grimace. Spike simply put on his game face and growled, and the sea of potentials parted to show them Giles, who was standing in a corner of the room, looking terrified and lost. His eyes were naked without their glasses, his scant hair stuck up in all directions; a diary clutched to his breast. Dawn and Anya were talking earnestly to him, touching him and trying to pull him away from the corner, but Giles didn't seem to understand their concern.

Buffy went up to him and put her hand gently on his sweater-clad arm. "Come on, Giles, I need you to snap out of it. You're the most mature person here, and I'm relying on you to keep everyone safe while I'm in Africa for a while."

Spike winced at the blatant insensitivity of her words, but all resistance flowed out of Giles and Buffy led him to the living room. He remained standing, a pole-axed expression on his face until she gently pushed him down on the couch.

"Africa?" he said weakly.

"Africa?" Willow and Dawn said simultaneously.

Why was everybody tagging along? Spike glared at Willow, but she didn't even blink. They should give Giles and Buffy a little privacy! Rage welled up in him. Bunch of clueless kids. With difficulty he shook it off. Not now.

Buffy blushed but stood her ground. "Yes. I'm taking Spike to Africa, because he needs to get his soul back. Without his soul he's too dangerous and we need him as a warrior." She glanced up to meet Spike's outraged look and her blush turned from carmine to alizarin crimson.

Spike crossed his arms and waited. He'd be damned if he let her get away with lying and denying again. Not on his watch.

"That's actually - a misrepresentation," Buffy went on in a strangled voice, crossing her arms in her turn. "I'm too dangerous if Spike doesn't have his soul. That's why we're going."

Christ, surely Buffy could see she couldn't just do this? They'd all talk her out of it and right they were. He walked over to Giles and saw him shrink back from him. He bit his lip to hide his pang of hurt at the rejection and realized he was wearing his game face still, without even noticing. That hadn't happened to him since he was a clueless fledgling and he'd have blushed if he could. Hastily he pushed the demonic visage away and turned to Willow and Dawn.

"Dawn," he said. "Why don't you get all the girlies settled and fed and cleaned up or whatever, and after we'll sit down and tell everything that's happened and decide what to do. Willow, you might go take a look at Xander? Buffy, I think Giles should tell his tale to you first, he's been badly hurt."

He was only slightly annoyed when Red and Dawn waited for a nod from Buffy before scuttling off to do their tasks. Stood to reason to check with the commander. Buffy herself regarded him with several emotions warring on her face.

"You think I've forgotten all my responsibilities?" she demanded. "We're needed here, I know that, but we have to be as strong as we can be! It's no use fighting this thing from a position of weakness."

"Doesn't that mean we need, at least, Giles restored as well?" Spike said.

Giles pricked up his ears like a dog at the mention of his name, and looked hopefully at Buffy. God, was he feeling sorry for the poor git! He actually thought old Giles was worse off than he himself was now. Buffy had stood by him, against all his expectations (and possibly everyone else's), which made the world a good place no matter what. How she must have feared he'd do an Angelus on her!

Buffy threw him a dark look, which he could withstand remarkably well, and sat reluctantly down next to Giles on the soft cushions. She took Giles' hand.

"Tell me what happened, Giles. Xander only gave me the gist."

Giles snorted again. "Silly young fool. What does he know?" He sputtered at Spike's look and pointed his finger at him. "That is *Spike*. I read in my diary that he is after you, trying to make you care for him! He's an evil creature and should be destroyed. You're my Slayer and I shall protect you against evil."

Spike saw Buffy's eyes fill with tears and she put her arm around Giles tenderly. "Giles. I can protect myself against evil, I'm a big girl now, and anyway Spike's not evil anymore. He hasn't been for a long time. He's a unique vampire, gaining a soul to be a better man for me! Don't you remember?"

Giles stared hard at Spike. "I remember my feelings for Spike very accurately, thank you. They haven't changed because of the soul, nor should they. Remember Angelus? I don't remember some of the details, but I'll never forget being tortured by him. Spike's lost it now, anyway, and will no doubt revert to his former ways. We are who we are."

"He also was a man before he was a vampire, Giles. I think there's a lot left of that man in Spike, with or without the soul!"

Spike almost drowned in the rush of feeling at Buffy's defense of him, and he started to pace to relieve the emotional tension.

"Anyway, Giles, what do you remember and what don't you? I'm confused."

This deftly put Giles back into his favorite position, the one explaining everything to less gifted pupils. Buffy still knew how to deal with her old mentor. Giles sat up a little straighter and touched the bridge of his nose absent-mindedly.

"The goddess Artemis forced us to make sacrifices in exchange for gifts. We had no way of knowing what she wanted and she took - she took - " Giles' voice wavered, and he started to slump down again. Buffy again placed her hand on his.

"Please go on, Giles, it's very important."

"As a little warning she took Xander's fillings, Spike's chip and ruined my glasses. Did nothing to Andrew, surprisingly enough."

"Where is Andrew, anyway?" Buffy asked idly. Spike started, a little trickle of guilt dribbling though his thoughts. God, it was so easy to forget completely about the boy.

"Do you remember everything that happened?"

"Yes, yes. Haven't lost my memory, just can't recall - reasons for doing things, or even my own words. I remember people very well, feelings, actions. But not - things. Things we fought or the books we found - stuff - in."

"Okay. Go on about Artemis."

"We did everything we could, Buffy, to find information on her, but there just was nothing there. The thing we did on the floor - the thing with sand didn't work. And then she took my knowledge way."

Giles' chin wobbled. Buffy looked away in embarrassment. Spike guessed she had no idea what to do, and with a jerk of his head, he indicated the kitchen.

"Watcher's throat's a little dry, Slayer. Go get him a glass of water," Spike said roughly. Slayer couldn't see that Rupert would hate crying in front of her. Never been empathy girl, if anyone knew that it was him. Spike ran his hand through his hair and started pacing again, figuring to draw Giles' attention. Sure enough, on his second circuit of the living room he felt Giles' glare directed at him, which was a relief. Good. Rage would keep Giles from blubbering on Buffy and making things even worse.

Buffy returned with the requested glass of water and sat down next to Giles again.

"Artemis took his soul, Buffy!" Giles said, throwing venomous looks at Spike. "Do you know what that means?"

"That depends, I guess," Buffy said patiently. "How about Xander? I'm not all that clear on what she took from him and why."

Giles pursed his lips, with another glance at Spike. Spike guessed he was still smart enough to see when he was being diverted, but went along with it.

"Artemis took about a quarter of Xander's substance to gussy up Andrew into her personal lover-simulacrum..."

Buffy said," What?"

Spike translated, "Artemis took Andrew as her lover, but she needed some Xander-meat to make him taller and prettier..."

"I understood Giles the first time. Still with the huh. Okay. So that's what happened to Andrew. I hadn't even realized he was gone instead of just not here. Huh. How is Xander? No essential parts missing? I thought he was looking better than he has in years."

Spike smiled ruefully. "He doesn't think so himself, love. He misses his mass a lot."

Buffy pinched a non-existent fat roll on her middle. "Maybe she could set up a fat-servicing outlet here in Sunnydale. We could eat all we want."

Giles and Spike shared a look of horror before they remembered not to.

Willow and Xander walked into the room, Willow looking tired and anxious, but standing close and supportive next to Xander, who was chomping on a mouthful of something. If he went on at that rate, he‘d be back into his old shape in no time, Spike thought uncharitably.

Buffy smiled at him vaguely and turned back to Giles. "So. Spike and I should be going to the airport. We don't wanna waste any time. We need to be back before the apocalypse."

Spike threw a desperate look at Willow. "Um, love, we should discuss that first, you know? Might be other options?"

Xander swallowed convulsively to get rid of his food and squeaked,"What? You're going to do what? Are you deserting us, Buffy? Are you running off with Spike? You can't do that! We'll be undefended."

Buffy set her mouth in a thin, stubborn line. "I realize that. It's just that we'll be worse off with both Spike and me out of action."

"Buffy, I'm lost here?" Xander said, his voice low.

"Me too, Buffy, I'm not following. We've got the old Spike back, not great, but I guess we can live with it if you can. Why would you be out of action?" Willow said.

Buffy's blush returned in full force, now bordering on puce.

"Just trust me," she said curtly. "I would be no good to you."

"But what about me, Buffy? I want my stuff back...I look like a sixteen-year old again!"

"You still have your skills, Xander, you memories and your soul. What's a little less fat mean? I'm thinking not a lot!"

"Right, if it happened to dumb old Xander it can't be serious, huh? You never take me seriously, Buffy!" Xander said, hurt oozing from every pore.

"That's right, because you've taken huge pains to disqualify yourself!"

Willow was wringing her hands, not knowing whom to support. "Buffy, do you really think it's the best thing right now, leaving for a soul-quest on the other side of the world? My feeling is the First should have priority."

Spike saw Buffy take deep breaths and clench her fists. "You guys just don't understand. It's me I'm worried about. I don't want to turn into psycho-Buffy again."

"When exactly were you psycho-Buffy before?" Xander asked. "Just checking? And what does it have to do with Spike?"

Spike moved to stand behind Buffy and put his hands on her shoulders. This couldn't be easy for her - but they were right to question a decision this peculiar.

"I - when Spike and I were dating before - " she looked back at him pleadingly and flashed bright red again " - I treated him real bad. I don't want to do that again. If Spike doesn't have a soul to set limits on what we - what we do - I'll be that girl again. You couldn't understand how hard it is for me not to let the darkness take me over, not to be cruel violent Slayer all the time. It's like I have a demon inside me, just like a vampire. I'm really afraid of that. That's why we have to go."

There was silence. They were all staring at Buffy with these eyes, compassion and fear combined.

"Buffy - I'm not completely clear on what you feel, but you can't leave. You can't leave Giles like this, not to mention Andrew," Willow said.

"Do whatever you have to do, B. I got your back."

The voice belonged to a dark-haired girl who was leaning nonchalantly against the doorjamb. Spike didn't know her, but he felt a thrill of emotion pass through all the others present in the room. Buffy was staring at her with her mouth in a little ‘o' of shock.

"So, Faith, when exactly did you get out of prison?" Buffy said snippily, quickly regaining her composure.

The girl let go of the doorpost and sauntered up to Buffy, swinging her hips and thrusting her breasts out. Spike watched her with interest. There was something about the way she moved, the easy sexuality she exuded, that drew him. Belatedly, memory kicked in. Faith. The other slayer. Definitely the last girl on earth he should be looking over, if the rumors he'd heard were true. Remembering their one short encounter, with her in Buffy's body, he was inclined to believe every word of them.

"Never mind, B. Just here to help, you know. You go do what you need to do, and I'll be guarding that pesky Hellmouth for ya." Her voice was low and a little hoarse, sounding older than her looks made her seem. She smiled at all of them in turn. Raising her eyebrows slightly when she saw Spike and his position close to Buffy. Then Faith turned back to Buffy, who had folded her arms in that defensive stance again and was staring back hard at Faith. Spike could practically see the tension crackle in the air between them.

Willow moved between Faith and Buffy, breaking the circuit. "Let's all sit down, shall we?"

To Spike's amusement, both Slayers complied.

"Let's make a quick to-do-list." Willow started ticking off points on her fingers. "One: defeat the First. Two: restore Artemis' victims. Last: rehash the past. Agreed?"

Nods from the Slayers. Giles and Xander followed Willow's speech with open-mouthed interest. Spike stayed behind Buffy and kept his hands on her shoulders

"As to goal one: we haven't a clue where to start," Willow went on. "Correct? Goal two: find the demon bitch and make her give back what she took from you guys! I think that's a neater solution than gadding off to Africa for Spike's soul, and takes care of Giles and Andrew as well."

"And me!" Xander added quickly.

"And Xander," Willow said.

Spike pressed down on Buffy's tense shoulder muscles, trying to convey his message without being disloyal to her in public. Buffy was silent, her trapezoids like wood.

"And besides, Buffy, if we should fail, you have right here the only person in the world who has experience resouling vampires!" Willow said with a triumphant flourish.

"No way," Buffy said tersely, but he could feel her softening slightly. "Better no soul than that kind of flimsy unstable soul!"

God. There was certainly no way he could keep Buffy without being able to make love to her. He might wish it to be otherwise, but sex was still the cement in their relationship. He wouldn't accept a cursed soul, no matter what the Scoobies thought, but he did want his own hard-won soul back. Weight of guilt and all. All this thinking and assessing with just his brain and his demon was hard work.

Xander lifted his head. "So, Bufferino, just now you said you wanted to leave here, right in the middle of the fight with the First, because you needed Spike's soul back, but you decline Will's offer to ensoul him? Color me confused! You think an unsouled vampire you can boink, but who could kill anyone he liked, is a better option than a souled vampire you can't boink?"

"Yes. And it's none of your business, anyway."

"Isn't it?" Xander jumped up and towered over Buffy. "Why not? It's us he'd kill. Or people we love, or people period. Remember what he could be tricked into only a couple of months ago?"

"I trust Spike," was the only thing Buffy would say. She stared hard at Xander until he dropped his eyes and lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. Buffy turned and left the kitchen. Spike could hear her lug her suitcases back upstairs. Well. Round one was won. Willow went to pick up books and the rest of Giles' diaries, and Xander went along to help her carry. When Buffy returned she was very subdued.

Spike turned around as he felt Faith's gaze on him. "Well, well," she said. "Buffy's boinking the undead again, huh? And William the Bloody, too? How's that chip thing working out for ya?"

She was standing very close. He could smell her hot exciting girl scent, overlaid with indefinable Slayerness and the smell of healing wounds. He swallowed. Buffy walked up and stood next to him, enveloping him and protecting him with her own aura of scent. Claiming him as her man, he liked that. He snaked an arm around her and gave her a quick, encouraging squeeze.

Faith smiled. "Hot little studmuffin, Buff. Can't blame ya. Playing with fire, though. Thought you were above all that."

"Things change, Faith," Buffy said evenly. "People change."

Did Faith know Buffy was really, really pissed off? Probably. The seemed to know each other pretty well.

"Fair enough, B. You've changed? Well, so have I."

Faith did a step back and tilted her head, regarding them both with a wicked little smile. Still, Spike smelled fear and uncertainty under all the cockiness. Made him like her more. He thought he'd better keep far, far away from her. She threw herself in a chair and hooked one leg over the armrest and one arm over the top of the chair.

"You call the shots, B. Tell me what to do and I'll do it."

Willow and Xander returned, laden with books. They plunked down the stacks on the dining room table. Spike eyed them with misgiving. Presumably these were the same books Giles and Andrew had gone through and where they'd found absolutely nothing.

"Giles?" Willow asked. "Can you remember what stuff you found out about Artemis?"

"I'm afraid not. I do know it was next to nothing, and mostly things I already knew. She wasn't listed as a demon. You could check my diary, though. I can't understand most of it."

Willow found the diary and started leafing through it. Suddenly she lifted her head. "Locator spell. We could do a locator spell on her!" There was a subdued excitement about her, mixed with fear.

"And if we found her?" Spike asked. "Don't think we're ready to meet her yet. There was nothing we could do against her. Magic didn't work, for one thing!"

Willow gave him a condescending smile. "Yeah, I read what you tried. I wouldn't exactly call that magic. I'm sure I can come up with something a little more powerful."

Spike's eyebrows rose. She was getting confident, all right. She was enjoying her moment as most powerful, most likely to succeed girl. He'd still bet on his Slayer, though. And the other one.

"You're not wrong, though," Willow continued. "We'd need to be prepared for her first." She yawned, and her eyes flicked over to Buffy almost guiltily. "I know we did nothing but sleep inside that cave, but I'm kinda falling over here. Whaddya say we do this tomorrow?"

"Yeah, tomorrow's good," Buffy said.

She seemed distracted.

"We could do a locator spell on Andrew?" Xander suggested. "Andrew's the guy we need, never mind vengeance."

"Tomorrow, okay? Not as if we could jumpstart into action right now."

Spike gave Buffy's waist another squeeze, left the kitchen and walked up the stairs. He wasn't going to wait for Buffy's permission to get into her bedroom, he'd decided. Bashful reserved Spike was someone nobody had seemed to like much, including himself, and was best left buried deep. Now that he had experience with resouling, so to speak, he thought the next time it might be a very different story altogether.

After he'd taken a lukewarm shower, on account of the hordes of teenagers having used up the hot water, he kicked his clothes aside and stood staring at the collection of tooth brushes on the shelf below the bathroom mirror. Which one was Buffy's? Buffy came in and patted him absently on his bum. He heard her rustling in a cabinet and then she held out a toothbrush to him, still in its shiny plastic wrapper.

"Here's a toothbrush for you," she said shyly. "I haven't got a black one, sorry."

He smiled back at her. "I'm not particular about the color of my toothbrush," he answered gravely. "Should I be?"

She shook her head, and put her hand on his arm tentatively. He saw her swallow and felt a moment of fear. Buffy was going to say something that was important to her, and in the past that had never boded well for him.

"It's nice, don't you think? Nice and normal, us brushing teeth together?"

"Yeah." Funny how his voice was hoarse all of a sudden. "Nice." Soul in, soul out, what did it matter? Same sentimental sod he'd always been.


	8. Chapter 8

Being woken up by an elbow in the nose was not how Spike had expected waking up in his Slayer's bed the first time. He sat up.

"Buffy?" he said groggily, holding his nose with one hand to catch the precious blood.

"Sorry, Spike," Buffy said with a sheepish look. "I guess I forgot I wasn't alone. I was just stretching."

There was a silence.

"Um. Tissue?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

Spike resisted the urge to lick his fingers. He knew she'd think it was gross. When she turned her head to throw the tissue away, he quickly licked his fingers anyway. A pity to waste it.

He smiled at her innocently when she settled herself back in the pillows.

Buffy made a face. "Um, Spike, you've got blood on your front teeth." She pointed.

"Yes, love; even after a hundred and twenty years without a mirror, I do sort of remember where my front teeth are." Where had that come from? He was feeling unreasonably cranky. Never mind. Don't waste a moment in bed with your favorite Slayer. He went in for a kiss. Buffy could fuck the crankiness out of him, if he could get her to move on a little from the lovey-dovey mushy stuff she'd insisted on last night.

Buffy leaned back from him and held him a way from her face with a strong Slayer arm. "Teeth. Blood on them. Ew? Brush first?"

Spike exploded. "Are you forgetting I'm a vampire? Damn right there is blood on my teeth! And on my tongue and my back molars as well, for God's sake!" He flung the sheets off him with an angry flourish and stalked over to his jeans. Hopping on one foot to get them on, he continued over his shoulder "Not to mention the blood on my hands, huh! Out damned spot, out! You knew I was a vampire, why are you kidding yourself? Go play normal girl with someone else, please!"

He couldn't find his shirt and didn't fell like hanging around to lace his boots so he just scooped them up, located his coat and prepared to hurtle out the door and slam it. Buffy was blocking the door, damn it, and he didn't mind that one bit. A good fight was just what he needed. His hands were full of coat and boots so she got just a fraction of a head start on him and put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him softly on his blood stained lips.

"I'm sorry," she said "Nothing about you squicks me. Come back to bed."

Spike was floored. Still dropping soft, fluttering kisses on his lips, she moved them both gently backwards until the bed hit him in the back of his knees and he landed on the softness of her mattress. Hot pricking tears flooded his eyes and nose and he almost hated how he could be more easily undone by kindness than by blows. He turned his face in the pillow to hide the weak sniveling but Buffy was on it, too. She grabbed his chin and turned his face back, deliberately kissing the tear that was sliding into his ear.

"Spike. We'll deal, okay?

He expected to get undressed roughly and ridden hard, but Buffy was full of surprises this morning. She did undress him, but without roughness or popping buttons, and she snuggled up against him and pulled the sheet back over them.

"This is nice, isn't it? Just cuddling?"

Spike nodded, snaking his arms around her warm, velvety body more securely. He definitely wasn't himself anymore. The uncontrolled emotions side of his personality was gaining the upper hand, and his temper was pretty short this morning, too. Without the soul, there was just more of everything, he guessed; all the emotions being magnified and spilling out with very little control. He had to work on that, not get riled up so easily. Buffy sighed a warm sigh against his neck and nibbled a bit of skin just below his ear. The deep thrill of joy that coursed through him at the small caress was probably more than a human being felt, too. There was a lot of good in being a vampire, even if the last years had tended to make him forget that. Her hair smelled of shampoo and Buffy, her skin tasted of salt and the last remnants of some kind of pale green cream she'd slathered on last night.

That had been wonderful. He'd been in bed already, a little tired but in a comfortable way, and watched Buffy prepare herself for the night. His respect for her had mounted. All that work every night at bedtime, and still time to do slaying and a job and save the world? There had been the hundred brushstrokes. He'd expected that, no woman of his acquaintance had ever gone without. His mother, Dru, Harmony, and now Buffy. But after that there had been the rubbing of oil in dry ends; two kinds of night cream (one for the eyes and one for the rest); hand cream, body lotion, flossing, eyebrow-plucking. Not necessarily in that order. And he knew that in the bathroom she'd showered, shaved her legs and armpits and her bikini-line as well.

They'd made slow, gentle love. After a bit, Buffy's natural smells had started to come through again and he had tried for something a little less slow and gentle, but Buffy hadn't wanted to play. Still scared of her dark side coming through, he assumed. He'd have to show her that he didn't mind Buffy hurting him one bit, that as long as she loved him, he could take anything she dished out. Falling asleep spooned to her hot sleepy body slowing down for the night was heaven.

Buffy nibbled his earlobe softly and he growled involuntarily, his back arching off the bed. Harder, he thought. Would she wig if he said it?

"Harder," he murmured into her ear. "Bite me."

Buffy growled back, which shot delicious shivers down his spine, and she started biting the edge of his jaw softly. He offered her his neck, and it got better and better, Buffy clamping down seriously now, it was almost like being nipped at by a fellow vampire, and yes, she was near his jugular now, this was going to be so good, his cock was straining towards the sky here, and he groaned something encouraging, but then she stopped. Rolled off him and lay down as far away from him as she could.

He sighed. He knew as only a vampire could that she'd been enjoying it just as much as he had. But apparently a line had been crossed already, and not even a drop of blood in play yet.

"Buffy..."

She lay rigid, her hands gripping her own upper arms tightly. He stroked a tense shoulder with one finger.

"C'mere, love, let me hold you," he implored her softly. "Talk to me."

"I'm afraid," Buffy said in a very small voice.

Spike kept mum.

"I'm afraid of me. You know I can't be her again." She cast huge eyes at him. "Please."

He gathered her to him. "Shh. I won't let you. But it's not about hurting me, Buffy. It's about love. It's about consent. As long as you love me, nothing you do to me during sex would ever hurt me."

She looked doubtful. "I went too far before."

"Yeah, you did. But even then, I could have fought back. Defended myself. It doesn't matter at all, love. Now's different. Just let it go, Buffy. It's fine."

**********

Willow led them straight to one of Sunnydale's many graveyards, Eternal Hunting Grounds. The last rays of the evening sun caught the green grass and the hundreds of brilliant red flowers that were dotting it in a wash of golden light. The effect was unearthly; all colors seemed too vivid to be real. The disorderly group of people slowly came to a halt, transfixed by the sight. Then the sun dipped behind the trees and the cemetery was immediately shrouded in dusk. The temperature dropped sharply.

"What pretty flowers," one of the Potentials remarked. Spike didn't even know her name.

Willow bent over to pluck one. She gave a low scream and jumped back, bumping into Buffy.

"Will? Willow, what is it?" Buffy said, and pushed herself forward to check out what had alarmed Willow. Willow stood retching, unable to speak.

Buffy hunkered down and stretched her hand out to the shiny red object. Spike, who'd been waiting in the car for the sun to set, came running up to help her. He felt her breath hitch and her heart start to hammer.

"Spike - look - it's a hand..."

The scent of fresh blood, Andrew's blood, assaulted his nose while he was still dozens of feet away. He skidded down on his knees next to Buffy and examined the bloody hand gingerly. It was in fact only a part of a hand, two fingers and some torn hunks of flesh, a shard of bone gleaming whitely under the layer of brilliant red fluid.

Willow came up to them, fingers pinching her nose shut.

"Buffy, did you see all those flowers? The red flowers? They must all be pieces of...someone."

"Andrew," Spike said quietly.

"You sure?" Buffy said.

"Yeah."

His demon kept quiet, in spite of the bloody scent. He squeezed her upper arm softly and started striding ahead, knowing he was the one best qualified to find all the bits and pieces. After discovering several more parts, ears, intestines, and indefinable bits of muscle, he returned to the group of nervously chattering girls.

"Willow? Can you do anything with this?" Buffy asked.

Willow nodded, still pretty green about the gills. "Yeah. If we get all of ....it, and I hurry, I might be able to put it back together again."

Xander came walking up with his hands full of bulky stuff. He let it drop to the ground, and it was revealed to be a pile of plastic bags and a packet of disposable gloves.

At Spike's look, he said, "Always got these lying in the back of the car, man, you never know when you need it."

"Good thinking," Spike said. Xander looked oddly at him, then shook his head and started doling out bags and gloves.

A couple of girls protested. "You can't mean to make us pick up body parts. It's icky!"

"Stop whining," Buffy said. "Being a Slayer means doing icky stuff all the time. Not all demons die neatly in a bag of dust; I'm usually up to my elbows in gore."

"Yeah, remember when you stuck your finger in the Gnarls' eye? That was ew!" Xander said.

"Don't we lead wicked, nasty lives," Faith said with a shrug, and walked purposefully to a bloody clump of something close by. "Buffy? Do you want me to just chuck it all in a bag or do you want it like, sorted?"

Willow's face sank for a moment, but after a moment, she lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. "Let's just do it quickly and leaving the sorting for later. It's almost dark, we need to find it all. Spike?"

"Follow me," he said resignedly.

The next hours were like a strange kind of nightmare. It wasn't even scary, just yucky, and boring. The girls fell silent during their unpleasant tasks, and when at last Spike and Willow declared it done, even Buffy and Faith were bone-tired of all the bending and picking-up.

Practical Xander had spread a plastic sheet in the basement and everybody had dumped his or her bag on it. Giles came clambering down stiffly, and was visibly upset by their gruesome shopping-bag collection. He wrinkled his nose at the smell.

"This is Andrew, Dawn told me?"

"Let's hope it's all of him," Willow said matter-of-factly, and Spike shivered a bit at her tone. No more geeky enthusiastic Willow with her high, girlish voice. This sober, low-voice woman would do what she had to.

"I wish I could help," Giles said politely, but there seemed to be a wistfulness.

Willow lifted her head, and again Spike felt shivers travel down his spine. "You can, Giles," she said in a silky tone. "Just hold my hand when I ask you to, and you'll be able to give me power."

Spike could see Buffy didn't particularly like it. "Giles is way too wonky to be used like that, Will. Ask a couple of the girls. Don't forget. People didn't like not being asked."

Willow bit her lip, but nodded in assent.

On Willow's request, they weighed the bloody bags full of Andrew. A hundred pounds of him were left. No one knew how much he had weighed, before, but it couldn't be enough. Then there was sorting. Bones on one heap, intestines on another, brains carefully apart in a salad bowl, undefined bits on the right.

The older Scoobies had taken on the sorting duties themselves, to spare the younger girls' feelings. Apart from Dawn, they had all been glad to settle for TV and popcorn instead. Dawn insisted on being there.

"Andrew was kind of my friend, okay!"

Buffy raised her eyebrows. "Friend? You do know what he did to his best friend, huh?"

"Sometimes he was nice to me," Dawn said stubbornly.

"Well, if you insist!" Buffy replied with a way too cheerful smile. Dawn was given the task of sorting the bones, as it would come in handy for Biology class. It was kind of fascinating to see the skeleton take shape.

"Why isn't it white, like normal skeletons?" Dawn asked.

""Cause we didn't boil it and scrape off all the bits of flesh," Spike answered.

"Ew. Why did I even ask?" Dawn sighed.

Willow was staring at the bowl full of grayish pink brains with a pensive look.

"What is it, Will? You look like you have a brilliant plan," Buffy said.

"Well, I do. I think," Willow said. "I'm thinking of kind of straining these brains with magic to distill Giles' knowledge."

"Didn't that just disappear when Andrew died?"

"Probably not," Willow said. "Knowledge is recorded in the brains in a physical way, even if we don't know exactly how. Magic might get it out. You know, like Spike's demon lets him use William's brain. That's really just as dead, of course."

"Ew," Buffy and Dawn said in unison.

"Thank you, Willow, TMI," Spike said pointedly.

"You see?" Willow went on unfazed. "It even lets him absorb new knowledge, like the acronym TMI. Or how to use the microwave."

"Will you stop talking about my brain!" Spike said irritably.

A wicked look from Buffy sent the blood rushing away from his brain anyway.

"There's only one drawback," Willow said. "I'm not sure if after the straining there is going to be any kind of brain left for Andrew."

A thoughtful silence fell.

"I'm thinking Giles is worth more to us than Andrew is. We like him better, and we've known him way longer," Willow started.

"Andrew's a little worm," Xander said. "I vote for Giles."

"Not so quick, people. Andrew's a human being, same as you. You owe it to him to try, at least," Spike protested.

"I can't believe you , Xander," Dawn said. "He's on a mission of redemption!"

Xander snorted, "Yeah, right, like that makes any difference! Once a murderer, always a..." His voice trailed off as his eyes met several pairs of raised eyebrows. "Oh. Yeah, sure. Redemption is important. And people should be given the chance, and be supported. Oh, please, Willow, it's just different because you're my friend, okay?"

"We're not mentioning Anya, are we, Dawn?" Buffy said.

"No way," Dawn said, returning her attention to a curved piece of chewed-looking bone, with tatters of flesh hanging off it. "Or Spike. Or Faith. No way."

"Enough already, girls. I'm duly chastised. I say, go, to saving Andrew. I just don't know if I can. Not as if a hundred pounds of flesh is enough to make a new Andrew. And not as if I could bring him back to life, right? I can assemble him, the rest would be up to Artemis!" Willow said.

Buffy looked stricken. "I know. But we can't just leave it at that. We have to try!"

"Of course I'll try, Buffy. I just don't know if it'll be enough."

"I'm done," Dawn announced after a while. "I'm gonna like hog the bathroom for three hours to get the icky zombie stuff off me."

"Nowhere near zombie yet, Dawnie. Andrew here's still fresher than your average pork chop, I'll have you know," Spike said casually.

"Spike!" Dawn screeched and ran for the stairs. "Gross!"

Spike shrugged and ambled over to Dawn's skeleton project. With a sigh, he exchanged a shoulder blade and a piece of pelvic bone, and started checking the whole thing. "Not much they teach kids in school these days, Buffy. If we put the poor fellow back like that he'd never walk again."

"So, Spike, you mean middle school in medieval England had a comprehensive bone assembly curriculum?" Xander was clearly gearing up for a verbal kill.

"Well, no, Harris," Spike said, and let his eyes travel from his neck to his crotch, "got my anatomical savvy in a more hands-on manner, if you know what I mean." He really had to stop getting Harris' back up, but it was so easy.

They distributed the piles of sorted Andrew over the fridges in the kitchen and the basement. Willow buried herself deeply in magic possibilities, and the others hung around the house in something resembling leisure. Buffy and Spike tried to settle down in front of the television, and for a moment there was domestic bliss, as Spike felt the hot tense body nestled against him start to relax under his hands. Within minutes, however, Buffy's tension sprang back into tight coils, and she jumped up from their cozy place on the couch and started doing frenetic chores.

After a few more moments of prime time television, Spike heaved himself up out of the cushions and went in pursuit of clean laundry. Coming down the basement steps with a basket full of dirty laundry on his hips, he surprised Giles, who was staring intently at the bowl of brains. He'd lifted off the cling film and was about to poke a tentative finger in the pinkish mass.

"I suggest those brains would be better off refrigerated, Rupert," Spike said, and started putting black clothes in the washer.

Giles gave a small cry of surprise and jerked his hand back as if stung. "You! What would you know about it, Spike? William the Bloody!"

"Been reading up on me some more?" Spike said, and set the washer for a short cycle. He straightened, and turned into Giles' accusing stare.

"What?"

"I know I don't remember every nuance, but I do know that the emotions I feel are real. Every fiber of my being screams at me to take you out of Buffy's life. You should have left when you had the soul, when you could still feel remorse. Now, of course, you'll stay, and leech off her like the parasite you are!" Giles' voice trembled with passion, and he was getting very red in the face.

"I think, Rupert, that you should put off making statements like this until after we've restored your brain. You're not playing with a full deck right now." Internally, Spike gave himself a pat of approval at his restraint.

"I'll give you a full deck!" When Giles stepped up at him, fists balled, Spike marveled at the self-deception that could induce him to think he could take a vampire, in his condition, with bare fists.

"Oh, Rupert, sod off, will you? Not now." He was really getting tired of this. Perhaps they could chain Giles in the basement, to keep him from doing harm?

Giles kept coming, oblivious to anything, and Spike fended him off easily, trying not to hurt the poor man too much.

"Just stop it, guys! This isn't gonna solve anything!" Buffy in General-mode, just what everyone needed.

"Faith, why don't you take out Spike for patrol, and I'll have a talk with Giles. " She practically shut the door in his face.

Fuming inwardly, Faith and Spike made their way across town to the first cemetery. He could feel Faith's eyes on him from time to time, but he was determined not to open up to her. None of her business, even if Buffy treated him like a dog just now. "Take Spike out!" Indeed. "We need to take Spike out for a walk, dad, he picked a fight and keeps sniffing and humping the Slayer."

His anger cooled rapidly. Buffy knew he wouldn't hurt Giles. She just needed some time with the poor old git to calm him down, and, he hoped, chain him up for his own good.

He could hear the swishing sounds Faith's jeaned legs made when she walked. It was very distracting. He tried to walk in front of her, so he wouldn't see the way her hips swayed and her buttocks bunched as she walked. There was such a different feel about her. From what he heard, she couldn't be that much younger than Buffy, but Buffy didn't jump off gravestone with a squeal anymore, or balance on the edges of sidewalks, giggling, with milling arms. If she ever had, of course, not that he would know. Maybe he could ask Willow what she'd been like when younger. Yeah, like they had such a great friendship thing going.

They met vamps. They dusted them with speed and efficiency. Nothing special going on. When they were attacked by six huge Fyarls, the fun really got going. It took them at least ten minutes to kill all six, greatly helped and hindered both by that fact that at least three huge bodies at a time were trying to get to two smaller ones.

This was the life, they were both laughing, gasping for breath, elated at the successful kill. Both buzzing with the same special need to relieve the tension after a good fight, that only vampires and Slayers could share. Their eyes met and before Spike could formulate any kind of thought Faith had him pressed up against a tomb, arms pinned above his head, kissing him ferociously.

Oh, Jesus, this was really the wrong Slayer to go on patrol with. For a moment, he gave in because of their shared victory, but it just didn't feel right, although it did.

Faith let go of his mouth and ground one hand in his groin.

"Hot vampire on a stick," she panted. "I'd forgotten how good it was with Angel. D'you think vampires are the ultimate turn-on for all slayers?"

Incoherent anger at Angel and what he'd been to Buffy gave Spike enough extra edge to make him wrench loose and push off Faith.

"What are you trying to do? Get back at Buffy or something?" He started walking away.

"What?" Faith laughed. "Don't tell me you weren't having fun, lover boy. I know wood when I feel it"

"So? I get a little hot and bothered after a fight, same as you. Doesn't mean I'm ready to jump the nearest warm body."

Faith caught up with him. "So, you and Buffy are all serious and stuff?"

"None of your business," he ground out. Damn that girl.

"How did it all happen, Spike? You got cursed with a soul and she fell for you? After you'd been her chipped enemy for years or something?"

"Why don't you ask Buffy?"

She laughed that tainted smoky laugh of hers, throwing him a come-hither look from behind her snaky locks and he just managed not to lose it and give in to the desire to hit her again.

"Yeah, right, like B. would tell me anything. We're not exactly friends, Spike." Not a come-hither look then. She just had her looks stacked against her. A good thing he hadn't hit her.

"Sounds as if she has plenty of reason for that, Faith."

"Fair enough. It's just that I, you know, heard what Willow did, and you're a vampire, and it's as if everybody gets forgiven by Buffy except me. Angel's the only one who ever listened to me, and when I saw him in LA he was, well, I wasn't his main priority."

Terror and madness are his priority, Spike might have said. Power and other people's pain are what Angelus likes best. He heard other things in her voice, though. Angelus knew how to sucker in the Slayers, didn't he? Made this girl go to prison and pay her penance. Bloody hypocrite. As if what she'd done, whatever it was, could be a fraction of what Angelus himself had done over the years. You didn't catch him going off to prison, did you? He got to play the hero.

Instead, he said: "Haven't seen Angel in years, pet. Imagine he might be a bit busy from what I heard. Took me long enough to get forgiven by Buffy, Faith. You can't expect it overnight."

She looked up at him expectantly with her wicked deep wine-dark eyes, like Dru, the damage down there of a different kind, though not half so deep nor so irrevocable as with his princess. Was he now supposed to bond with her as well? Evil Anonymous?

"Just do your part, show ‘em you mean it, and they'll come round. You're human, after all," he said.

"Thanks," she said, her voice sarcastic, but he knew all about defense mechanisms.

"Buffy understands more than you think about the lure of darkness Slayers feel, you know," he said, and then for a moment wished he hadn't. Buffy's business after all. "She might understand more in retrospect than you ever imagined." When he heard himself say this, he had a minor epiphany. It might not help Faith, but it sure might help Buffy talk to someone who was part demon herself.

"Hmm."

They finished the rest of the patrol in companionable silence.

Buffy was in the kitchen, watching water come to the boil with a faraway expression on her face. He grabbed hold of her and rumbled softly against her fragrant neck, "Buffy, my love, I want you upstairs, now." She was sweet and pliant under his hands, like taffy, and warmed up in seconds.

"Patrolling urges?" she said, with understanding looks.

"Yeah..."

Most of his concentration was on his own dick and the Slayer's ass moving on the stairs, but somewhere deep inside a little voice was commenting that Buffy really liked this forcefulness. Buffy liked being coerced a little by the man she loved. How about that?


	9. Chapter 9

"So, you're just gonna like, dig in?" Dawn asked, a big ‘ew' written on her face. "Unsanitary much?"

Willow looked a little apologetic. "Well, basically, yeah. You can't have plastic on you hands with magic, you know. It would shield the natural energy, wouldn't work so well."

"So," Anya said, "if we had wrapped you in plastic wrap instead of a binding spell when you were Darth Willow all might have been avoided?"

A dark flush rose on Willow's face. Anya caught a few of the looks directed at her and rolled her eyes. "I was just making an interesting observation on magic in general. What's wrong with that?"

"We've all made our mistakes, Anya. It's just hard if people keep mentioning them."

Willow returned her attention to the pale blue Tupperware bowl full of brains. "Giles, you ready? Xander, you ready to hold Giles?"

The men nodded. Both looked mighty pale, Spike thought. Willow herself wasn't looking too fresh either, but she'd been working on spells all night. He felt a vague nagging feeling that he couldn't name about the fact that he and Buffy had been enjoying both the pleasures of love and a good night's sleep.

The young witch dug in with both hands. Spike looked on with fascination. He could vividly remember the feel of soft brains dissolving under his hands, from the days he'd still felt the need to prove to Dru that the was every inch as bad and mean as Angelus was. Willow threw her head back, the cords in her neck thick with tension, eyes turning black. She chanted words he couldn't understand, probably not Latin then, although her accent was at best atrocious. She lifted her gory dripping hands from the bowl and advanced on Giles. Giles blanched and quailed, and would probably have fled if Xander hadn't gripped him firmly and held him still, although he looked a little white himself. Must be all kinds of weird seeing your kindergarten friend turn into the Wicked Witch of the West. Again.

Willow plunged her hands straight into Giles' cranium, and Spike flashed back to Glory doing the same to him on different places in his body. Giles screamed. Xander turned even paler, and Spike started to walk toward them quickly, thinking Xander was going to lose it. Faith was closer than he was and gripped Xander firmly round the ribs. She, too, was white as a sheet. Spike heard the thundering of Dawn's boots on the basement stairs and was glad she was leaving, at last. This was not a sight for a seventeen year old.

Willow finished with a last vocal flourish, the sound of her voice reverberating unpleasantly inside Spike's own skull. His back teeth ached. She truly had a lot of power. Willow withdrew her hands from Giles' head and staggered back to her chair. She slumped down with a sigh, awkwardly holding her dirty hands in front of her. Spike saw the others turn to Giles, who was looking worse than he had before, and handed Willow some paper towels for her hands.

"Thanks, Spike," she said with a wan smile. She studied him for a moment with her big eyes all sunken and tired. "You seem even more soulful than you did when you had one, did you know that?"

Spike didn't know what to make of that and didn't answer. He was just trying to help Buffy, wasn't he? Didn't matter too much about the soul, for most day-to-day things anyway. Not as if handing someone a handful of paper towels was a big moral decision. He'd done as much for Dru, even for Darla, in the midst of their worst excesses.

He walked over to the little group clustered around Giles. His eyes met with a very sharp glance from Giles' eyes.

"Feeling better, Watcher?" he inquired.

"Hardly," Giles said acidly. "I know more about Luke Skywalker and Rogue than I've ever wanted to. Not to mention that the feeling of being inadequate seems all-pervasive."

That sounded encouragingly like the old Watcher. They might have expected Giles and Andrew's knowledge, and even personalities, to get a bit mixed, in hindsight. It just wasn't a possibility they had discussed. Willow might be the end-all-and-be-all in the magic stakes, but Giles was still the guy they needed to point out the nasty bits everyone had overlooked.

Giles heaved himself out of his chair, using his arms to lever himself up, and Spike could see Buffy was noticing this too. He wasn't young anymore, was Rupert, and by rights he should be out of the line of fire.

"I need a bit of fresh air," Giles said. "Alone."

They watched him totter up the stairs, holding on to the railing with white-knuckled hands.

"Willow? Do you think Giles will be okay?" Buffy asked worriedly.

Willow flapped a boneless hand. "I guess. It went okay, you know, everything that was in there," and she pointed vaguely at the Tupperware bowl, "is back in Giles' head. If it was enough, I can't say. And I feel like a dork for not thinking about Andrew's knowledge. Of course there was a risk of it getting mixed in." She looked up at Buffy tiredly. "We'll have to wait until Giles tells us himself, Buffy."

Buffy gestured to the bowl. "Um, is there anything left for Andrew himself, or are the brains just, um, used up?"

Willow raised her eyebrows. "Only one way to find out..." She flexed her hands, as if readying herself to plunge them back into the bowl.

"Will, you look kinda beat," Buffy said frankly. "Can we wait until later?"

"Not really, Buff. He's not getting any fresher." The girls looked at Spike, who grimaced at his role of team nose, but had to confirm Willow's assessment.

"It's okay, Buffy," Willow sounded terse. "I'll get it done."

"Whaddya need, Will? Extra oomph? I got it. Spike's got plenty, Faith - take what you need."

"Yeah..." Willow didn't seem convinced. "I can do it without extra strength. It isn't as complicated as straining the brains. Andrew was a whole being once, so I don't have to row upstream to put him together, so to speak. The natural desire of things to be whole will work with me here."

Matter-of-factly, she retrieved her bags with their bloody contents from the fridge and upended them without ceremony on the sheet still covering the basement floor. She mumbled a few words and the stuff started sliding together, seemingly of its own accord. The flesh attaching itself to the pitiful bones made fleshy, sucking sounds. Buffy reached behind her to grip Spike's hand and he saw the silent ‘ew' form on her face.

They watched for a few minutes, but to Spike it soon became clear that there simply wasn't enough flesh to assemble a whole human being. He looked at Willow, but she seemed oblivious, her eyes deep black, staring at the slowly growing and pulsing object on the floor, murmuring unintelligible words.

He checked to see what Buffy thought of it and discovered she had averted her face.

Xander beat him to it. "Willow! Stop! This isn't going to work. This is never going to be a complete human being. We could never bring this thing to life again! Willow!"

Buffy stepped forward. "Willow, Xander is right. Stop, this is pointless."

Willow waved them away with one hand, never missing a beat in her concentration on her gruesome spell work.

"Buffy, we have to stop her. Is it dangerous to stop a witch in mid-operation?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "How would I know? Come on, Spike, Faith, on three!"

Spike put his hands over Willow's mouth, while Faith and Buffy grabbed her hands and pushed them down. Willow struggled wildly and tried to bite him, but it wasn't until he saw the green return in her eyes that he let go.

"What!" It was a furious screech. "I wasn't going evil! I was just putting Andrew back together!"

Xander grabbed Willow's hands. "Will, please, look at it! That's never going to be a real boy again. It would be cruel to finish it and force Artemis to animate it."

"But- but you told me I had to try. I knew it wasn't gonna work, but you made me try!" Willow was nearly crying, confused and angry.

"I know, Will. It's just - you were so busy doing the spell that you couldn't see what we could. That it was hopeless."

There was a silence.

At last Faith broke it. "We have to bury it - him. Want me to do it?"

Buffy turned to Faith gratefully. "Yes, please. I really...appreciate this, Faith."

"Five by five, B." Faith replied with a nod and got to work, folding the plastic sheeting in so she could carry it as one bundle.

She looked up. "Is anyone going to say a couple words? ‘Cause I never knew the guy, I wouldn't know what to say."

Xander stepped forward silently and took up one side of the bundle. Buffy put out a tentative hand on Willow's shoulder and squeezed it. "You okay, Will?"

"Yeah. Sorry, I lost it for a moment, I guess. Not going evil, though."

"We know. Will, we have to start preparing the summoning of Artemis. I was hoping you and Giles could make a plan for the magical side of all this?"

"Sure. I'll go find him." Willow rose and slowly made her way out of the basement.

Buffy followed the slight figure with a frown on her forehead. "She‘s getting tired."

"Yeah," Spike answered. "To be expected, innit? What are your orders for me?"

She looked back at him with surprise. "Orders?"

"You're putting people to work left and right. Why not me?"

She pursed her lips and crossed her arms. "Suggestions? Xander told me you played general when I was away..."

"That's right, I did, I suppose. Somehow, old Rupes was a little off his game the last few days."

"Really," she said. "That's weird. Now. How would you set this up?"

Spike smiled at her. "Let me get pen and paper," he said, ideas forming as he spoke. They left the basement in their turn to join the others at the war council.

"Alright," Giles started, his fingers kneading the bridge of his nose constantly, "why would we try to summon Artemis? In my opinion, the risk is too great. We lost massively the last time, and in spite of Willow and the Slayers, I can't see any other outcome this time. Resistance is futile."

"But Giles," Buffy protested, "We owe it to Andrew and the others to try. How else can we get Andrew back, or Spike's soul?"

"As you've said yourself, Buffy, there are several other options for souls. And as for Andrew - I'd like to remind you of your own resurrection from the dead - at God knows what cost. We can't allow Willow to try it, even though it was a magical death, and I can't see that we could persuade Artemis to do it for us. Indeed, I doubt even she could do it. Life and death are no small matters even for Gods."

There was not much to be said to that.

Giles held up a finger to get everyone's attention again. "On the other hand, I fear that our gathering up of Andrew's, um, remains, will attract her attention to us. Presumably, scattering Andrew's torn body over the earth was her traditional sacrifice of her lovers. Willow, I'm sure you noticed the resemblance to the death of Adonis."

"Absolutely," Willow said, lifting her chin staunchly.

"Sure," Spike growled. "So what?"

"Logic dictates she might not like her sacrifice to be disturbed. We must be careful and prepare against her return."

Giles continued rubbing his forehead and nose. Spike couldn't decide if he had a headache or was compulsively missing his glasses.

"So, "Buffy tried to sum up, "you think we basically shouldn't summon her because the risk is too high, but she will probably come on her own, so we might as well summon her after all?"

"Yes, that is essentially correct," Giles answered.

"Any idea when?"

"Um, no. Unfortunately not."

"Okay, Spike, we have to draw up a line of defense. Let's get to it."

"While you're off playing Leia and Han Solo, Willow and I will prepare our defensive magic," Giles said coldly and turned away.

"Giles, I have to say, you are creeping me out majorly. Could you tone down the geek-references a bit? It's downright unnatural."

"I like it," Xander said, coming in from the backyard. "We talk the same language now, G-man!"

Giles shuddered and briefly closed his eyes. "Indeed, we do. Xander it might be best if you dug up Andrew' body. We might need it in exchange for Artemis's demands."

"What? We just buried the guy! I said nice things about him, too, about redemption and stuff!" Xander looked imploringly at Buffy.

Buffy shrugged. "Do what Giles says, Xander. It's not as if it's really Andrew, you know."

"I know that! It's just not respectful to the dead..."

"Survival first, Xander."

"Just promise me, Buffy, that you'll give me a proper burial if my time comes," Xander said, shaking his head. "Not shove me down in that hole in your backyard, okay? I want a real grave and a stone, so you can bring me flowers."

Buffy hugged Xander. "Of course I will. It's a promise."

"Me too," Willow said.

"Seconded!" Giles mumbled from behind his books.

Buffy turned and raised her brows to Spike. He shrugged. "A nice urn by your bedside, love? Or maybe just sprinkle me over some roses. Whatever."

"Okay," Buffy said, "now that we're all serious and all, I don't mind so much about which grave, but promise me you won't resurrect me this time."

"Promise," Willow said in a small voice.

"Promise," Xander and Giles echoed.

Spike just nodded. "Course I wouldn't love. Knew you hated it."

****

"Spike?"

"Buffy?" Spike looked up from the sofa he was shoving aside.

"C'mere," Buffy said.

"Always..."

He smiled at her as he walked towards her and her heart did a double Axel. How could a smile make her feel so...? There had been no smiling Spike for a long time, she guessed. Not since she broke them up, probably. She liked his smile even better than, say, his abs or his hands. Thinking about these body parts made her want to touch them, right now.

Her voice was a little scratchy, suddenly. "Wanna come upstairs with me?"

He stood close now, and smiled down at her again. He didn't answer, just tucked away a stray hair behind her ears.

"How tight you make your face, Buffy," he said softly. His thumb drifted over her lips, smoothing them into their natural shape.

Buffy felt not just her lips, but also her whole face, her whole body, soften and relax in response to that touch. This was how a puppet must fell if the puppeteer let go of the strings, all slack floppy limbs going willy-nilly, released from the taut commands.

Spike held her without speaking, and Buffy felt her eyes fall shut and started to drift off in sleep, standing up. Spike lifted her up and carried her across the room. She kept her eyes closed. She felt Spike going upstairs. By the amount of steps he took and by the faint welcoming smell, she knew they were in her bedroom. Their bedroom. The door clicked softly shut. She was put down on her bed, deposited as carefully and gently as if she was a baby.

Still she didn't open her eyes. It was wonderful to pretend like this, to play will less and helpless. Her clothes were peeled off by hands so gentle, so skillful that she hardly felt their touch. The feather light touches changed her skin into a tingling receptive membrane. It encased her body like a living glove, and she felt the warming blood flow through it, and knew it was connected to every part of her.

The touches stopped. She felt a slight flow of air over her skin and knew she was naked. Her nipples hardened in the cool air and she arched her hips, silently inviting the touching to resume.

A slightly cooler body nestled against hers. It had many textures. Velvety smooth against her breast, a rougher feel against her legs, different kinds of sensations against her face, moist softness of lips, bump of nose, flutter of lashes.

Buffy sighed softly, and lips nibbled hers, a tongue licked insistently until her lips opened of their own accord. Her tongue met Spike's. Touching tongue with Spike wasn't ordinary yet, or not yet again, it reminded her of the first electric shock and naughtiness she'd felt when she kissed her little friend next door, Bennie, when they were five. She turned her whole body into the kiss, sliding her legs around his hips, feeling his erection press against her stomach.

She opened her eyes. The filtered afternoon light turned Spike's hair into fancy restaurant butter, and allowed her to see the texture of the skin on his face. Not quite smooth, not a young boy anymore, just lightly touched by the first ravages of maturity, a few laughter lines by the eyes, a frown line on the forehead. Buffy touched his scarred eyebrow, feeling the pink scar tissue and the light brown hair. His eyelashes were much darker than his eyebrows, and there were lilac shadows on his eyelids.

She was so caught up in the observation of these details, that the sensation of his cock sliding home into her pussy almost shocked her. She twitched and gasped, squeezing her eyes shut in a reflex, her fingers digging into Spike's shoulders. After a bit, she could see again, and now the face so close to hers didn't have its attention turned downward, and the blue eyes stared right into hers.

Buffy felt herself blink, and blink, and blink again and then suddenly, in a flood of sensation so pure it was almost pain, she had an orgasm. She knew her mouth was open and her eyes screwed tightly shut, her body scrunched up like a person in labor, and she thought she must be like a total spaz, going into convulsions because her lover had slid in and out of her twice.

She started to come down and she could see her skin was bright red down her neck and breasts, and she felt her cheeks flame. She hid her face in Spike's neck, and although she meant to say something like, sorry to be such a spaz, what she actually said was, "I love you, Spike," and he smiled at her sweetly, and then not so sweetly. He pushed her body down and her legs up and started thrusting harder, at the perfect angle for her G-spot, so that she could only lie there twitching and gasping and moaning, being completely unable to lift a finger, only to just come and come and come again.

She couldn't open her eyes. They were gummed together or something. Spike turned her over on her knees, pushed a pillow under her head, and then slid inside her from behind. This was the position that gave her the very best, longest and strongest orgasms, and she could only mumble into the pillows and scrabble weakly at the bedcovers.

After a while, she couldn't say how much time had passed, or how many times she'd come, Spike grunted and leaned down heavily on her. Good. She rolled out from under him and pushed one of the pillows over her head, waiting for him to slide his body against hers and curl up for a well-deserved sleep.

"Buffy! Buffy, don't go to sleep. We need to get downstairs for the spell. Buffy!"

Buffy was perfunctorily wrapped in a robe and marched out to the bathroom. With a sigh she got in the shower and leaned against the tiles, ready for a nice hot shower to wake her up slowly. The cold water hit her with brutal intensity, and her scream echoed loudly in the small room.

With a bang, the lock was forced open and Xander tumbled into the bathroom, coming to the rescue. He halted uncertainly and averted his eyes after a moment, when he saw Buffy was naked in the shower.

"You have my permission to stake him," Buffy said with chattering teeth. "This water is cold!"

Xander hesitated. "Um. Yeah," he said, and took off, shaking his head.


	10. Chapter 10

"Hey, B."

"Faith."

"Jeez B., you working and doing dishes? Are none of these girls housetrained?"

Buffy smiled vaguely. "Being alone somewhere isn't of the bad...doing dishes drives them away nice and fast, every time."

"Need a hand with them?"

"Um, sure. There are towels over there."

"So, B., what's the story with you and the vamp?" Faith asked casually.

Buffy flicked a glance Faith's way, but the other girl had her eyes on her own hands, carefully drying the dish.

Buffy cleared her throat. She never liked opening up to people, but if anyone could get it, it was Faith, no stranger herself to dark impulses. "Long story. He fell in love with me. Got a soul. We got together."

"As simple as that?"

Buffy smiled to herself. "No. Of course not." She flicked another quick glance at Faith, who was now looking at her steadily. "I mean, vampires and vampire slayers - not natural love-buddies."

"Uh-huh," Faith said non-committal.

"Did you know I died again? Willow resurrected me and I was pretty depressed for a while. Spike - helped me, um, work off the depression."

Buffy looked at Faith again to see if she had understood. Yes. The dark eyes did not condemn. Buffy took a deep breath. "Yeah. I guess you might be the only one who gets it. The need for something dark, for violence - for someone who can take what you dish out."

She saw Faith's eyebrows rise, and she blushed in spite of herself. Damn. She was still ashamed of it.

"Must have been hard for you, B. Never were comfortable with the whole grunting and horny thing, huh?"

Buffy just shook her head, wordless.

Faith went on. "You got yourself the perfect fuck-buddy, though. A vamp can take everything a slayer's got to give. Cool. Gets worked up himself after a good hunting."

Buffy frowned a little. How would Faith know? Then she sighed. "More than a fuck-buddy, Faith. That's what I thought I could keep it to, that level. Just not me, though, gotta do the whole love thing, too." She felt the blush rise again. This must be the first time she'd said it to someone. She hadn't even been able to use the ‘L'-word to Willow.

"Love?" Faith sighed a little. "Lucky girl. And what's with the soul deal? He got one for you and Artemis stole it?"

"Yeah, that's basically the story."

"So...you got together after the soul?"

Buffy chewed on her lower lip. "Um, no. We had, um, something going before that. And it got kinda destructive on both sides." Faith still looked completely understanding. Figured. "I dumped him. He freaked, stuff happened. He knew he couldn't control himself enough and went to get the soul."

"But now he's lost it. Are you afraid he's gonna freak again?"

Faith tossed the towel, grabbed a rag and started cleaning the sink and the counter. Buffy took in all the easy domesticity without comment.

"Well, strangely enough, no, I'm not. I'm more afraid of me, actually." Buffy took a deep breath. "'cause, ya know, it's kinda seductive, letting yourself go. I'm a little afraid he's not gonna say no and I'll go too far."

"There's lots of stuff you can do about that, B. Safety words and all."

"Hmm. Maybe. He might not use them."

"Well," Faith said in a matter of fact tone, and tossed the rag, "in that case you didn't go too far yet, right? He can take a lot more than your average human."

"Yeah."

They looked at each other for a long time, it seemed.

"Trust yourself, B. You know you're a good girl. There's no bad in what two people like to do to each other, don't let anyone convince you otherwise," Faith said softly.

"Yeah. Thanks, Faith."

"Five by five, B.!" She left the kitchen, leaving Buffy with a clean kitchen and a strangely relieved feeling.

*****

The living room was completely transformed. All the furniture had been shoved to the side, so that the middle of the room was bare. Willow and Giles had made a magic diagram in the middle of the floor again, and they hadn't closed it yet.

The potentials were arranged in a circle around the room, with Anya, Xander and Dawn placed at strategic intervals between them. Willow was sitting on the floor. There had been some discussion on the living circle of potentials, but Buffy had been adamant.

"Willow, you might as well admit to it and prepare for it, okay? You are gonna need extra power, and instead of just grabbing it from the nearest person like you did last time, we're gonna make a circle of everyone who's not fighting, with everybody linking hands, so you can tap into all that power. We can hope you won't exhaust or kill anyone that way."

"Hope?" One of the potentials squeaked.

"Yes, hope. There's always a risk in what we do, guys. Get over it. Giles will do the summoning again. Willow will bind her with magic, Faith, Spike and I will try to use force on her."

Willow closed the circle with a last handful of herbs.

"Everybody set and done? Okay. Giles, you can start," Willow said with a nod and grabbed the hands of the potentials next to her. They all followed suit. Spike's hands tightened on the axe he was holding. He really hoped Willow could perform, because Giles' previous attempt at binding Artemis had been a massive failure. He glanced at Buffy and Faith. No lack of confidence there, anyway. Of course, they hadn't been present when Artemis had swatted him away as casually as she would a fly, and with as little effort.

A crack of thunder sounded suddenly overhead.

"Was that you, Willow?" Xander asked jokingly.

"Um, sorry guys, just a little nervous," Willow said.

Xander paled and looked up at the ceiling. "Oh."

Giles dipped his fingers in the glass of Zinfandel he was holding and flicked the drops on the wooden floor. Without the electrical buzz of before, Artemis appeared. Her white Greek dress was spattered with blood. A wave of shock went through the potentials. Willow chanted a few short phrases, and a net of glowing golden energy descended on Artemis. She looked at it in disdain, but was very careful not to let it touch her.

"I was about to visit, anyway," she said. "Why did you disturb my ritual? I needed the blood to make the earth flower again! Pretty red lilies for spring...The king must be killed before he can return again."

"Well - we don't care about your ritual - we want our friend back, we want Spike's soul back, and my knowledge. Oh, and Xander's flesh," Giles said.

She looked around at them in surprise. "These things are gone, used up. What's been surrendered to the earth cannot be returned. We made a fair deal, did we not?"

"No, we didn't," Giles said strongly. "We had no idea what we were agreeing to. You tricked us."

"That is the risk of dealing with the Gods, that you may not comprehend our true meaning, foolish mortals!" She shrugged. "I cannot help you. The things you wish for are beyond my reach."

"I won't accept that. Willow?" Giles said.

Willow said a word and the gold net tightened. Artemis writhed, and screamed in fury and pain.

"Cease your torture!" she screamed.

"NO," Willow said. As before, the sound reverberated in Spike's skull with painful intensity. "Yield what's ours, Artemis. Yield." Spike gritted his teeth against the pain. He risked a quick look around to check who was having trouble with Willow's voice. Only Giles and Xander seemed unaffected. Buffy and Faith were looking especially pained, the potentials less so. All those with demonic origins, then.

"I can restore the flesh," Artemis pleaded. "Not the souls - I cannot reach the souls! All your gifts have been given as a sacrifice to the earth, and are forfeit."

Willow eased the net. "Andrew's body? Completely restored?"

"Yes - but not his self, not his soul."

Willow looked at Buffy. "No point, then, is there?"

Xander spoke up suddenly. "I want my flesh restored."

"Huh?" Willow said. "What? Xander, you a look lot better without all the, um, flesh!"

"It's my flesh and I want it. And if I need to lose weight, fine, than I'll lose it myself. No demon or god gets to put her hands on my body."

Spike kept his face absolutely straight.

"Okay," Willow said, "Artemis, restore Xander to his original form."

Artemis sighed, and waved her hand once. Xander's breath left him with a loud puff, and he sagged, almost going down before he caught himself.

"Christ, that's hard on the thighs," he moaned.

"Join the Weight-Watchers?" Anya suggested.

"Guys!" Buffy said warningly.

"So? Will you return my sacrifice to me and release me?" Artemis demanded.

"Well, since you have no power over souls..." Giles began.

"Willow, why don't you pull that net a little tighter? " Spike interrupted. "People, and I suspect Gods, don't always tell the truth without coercion."

Willow nodded, and with a single word and a tightening of her hands set the golden net to contract.

Artemis screamed, higher and higher, hurting in the ears in a different way than Willow's magic voice. At last, one of the potentials broke and put her hands against her ears to protect them against the sound of Artemis' screams. Willow could not sustain the magic with the circle broken and had to let go. Artemis shattered in a thousand fragments of green light and disappeared.

"Wow!" Molly said. "Did we vanquish her?"

"Wrong show," Xander said.

"Willow?" Buffy asked. "Is she gone, or what?"

"I don't know! I might have killed her - I didn't know I could..." Willow sounded a little upset.

"Giles? What do you think? Did we kill her, or did she leave?" Willow asked.

"I have no more clues about this than you, Willow," Giles said tiredly. He started nervously rubbing his face again. "Buffy?"

"Let's assume that what we see is what we get. She looked killed to me!" Buffy said practically.

"Yes. Well. It's a bit anticlimactic, really. All this ruckus, and Willow is simply able to kill her!"

"Hey!" Willow said, "I am the most powerful person in the room, you know."

Giles dipped his head, as if looking over spectacles, and looked Willow in the eye. "We haven't forgotten, Willow," he said. "We never will."

"Hey!" Xander said this time. "Lay off Willow! She's done her penance, okay!"

"I admire your loyalty," Giles said. "I deplore your blindness."

"I think you two need to back off," Buffy said carefully, looking at the downcast faces around her.

"Hmph," Xander said. He sank down heavily on the couch. "My knees are killing me already."

"Well?" demanded the English Slayer in training. "We're not gonna leave it at that, are we! We haven't got the vampire's soul back yet, or Andrew! We're not just gonna let her go!"

She looked around for support at her fellow trainees. Most of them nodded. Dawn stepped forward and confronted Willow. "So? You're stronger than she is! You can defeat her and force her to return Andrew to us!"

"You think so?" Willow said. She was lying next to Xander, draped over the couch like an old rag, and hardly able to keep her eyes open. "I don't agree. I think this was the limit of my powers and that I wasn't even near breaking her. She left of her own accord."

"I think we should count ourselves lucky to have gotten this far, and not taunt fate anymore by seeking another encounter with Artemis," Giles said. "I am truly very sorry about the boy, but I think we've done all that is humanly possible.

"In that case, "Xander said, "I think we should make it clear to all the girls, and I mean everyone lese, that it is over. We need to provide closure."

"Psychobabble is it now?" Giles said dismissively.

Xander ignored him. "Buffy? We need to hold a service for Andrew. The real thing, or as close as we can get. Read the bible, throw clods of earth on his casket, only he hasn't one, but um, say stuff, leave flowers. We all need to know what really happened. That we lost a, a comrade, in the battle with evil. I think just throwing him into the earth in the backyard is a mistake."

Willow sat up, shamefaced. "Shouldn't we tell his family? Didn't Tucker and him have a mother?"

Xander sank back in the chair with a defeated air. "I don't know any way around that, " he admitted. "If we do that, everything would have to be official. Police, producing the body...We just can't - I don't think we want the police here. We must be breaking a dozen zoning and sanitary ordnances. Not to mention Chloe."

"I think you're right, Xander," Buffy said, pacing. "We'll think of something. Write an anonymous note to his mother or something. But first we should organize the funeral. Xander, could you? I really hated it with Mom, and I -"

"Hey. It's okay, Buff. No problem. "

Buffy nodded at him gratefully. Spike thought of telling her it had been Xander who'd been the steady organizing guy when she herself had died, and this was asking a lot of him, but thought better of it. Harris was a big boy.

******

The silence in the backyard was eerie, because it wasn't a real silence. There was the occasional natural night sound, a sleepy bird calling out, a breath of wind rustling the leaves of the trees, a few cars driving by on Revello. But mostly the shuffling of girl's feet could be heard, and the rustling of their clothes, and soft whispers. They were all gathered outside, trying to be silent.

At last Xander's voice, unexpectedly solemn, broke the silence.

"I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. ...."

Spike shifted his weight to his other foot. He hadn't known Xander had it in him to preach. But he actually did a bloody good job, he had to give him that. Amazing.

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust...Let us now all say goodbye to our friend, and hold him in our memories as a guy who tried hard to become a better person, and who was a pretty good cook. If you want, you can all say something personal now."

Xander nodded, and stepped back. Spike was probably the only one who could have seen the nod in the darkness of the yard, and that's why he stepped forward first.

"He genuinely tried to help us," he said and stepped back.

"He was really sorry he killed his friend," Dawn said.

One by one, about half of the potentials stepped up. Not all had known him well enough to speak for him. At last Giles walked to the edge of the grave and said, "We are deeply sorry, Andrew, brother of Tucker, that we weren't able to save you. I hope you can take some comfort from the fact that we tried as hard as we could. I hope that you may eventually see the light. We will remember you as a comrade, and for the fact that in real life, people sometimes die, and that death is final."

A girl started to sniffle. She was shushed by her friends, but when Dawn walked up to her and threw her arms around her, there were several girls who broke down and cried, too.

Spike saw by the way that Buffy held her head that she was trying not to cry. She started to walk away, but he stopped her.

"Let them see it, Buffy," he said in her ear. "Let them see you cry over him. That'll let them know you'll grieve over them if we lose them in battle. They need that."

She cried in his arms, and if was perhaps not entirely over Andrew, nobody would know. The girls filed past them silently, the mood of the funeral still wreathed around them. Most of them touched Buffy briefly, or said something to her in subdued voices. Buffy had never felt more like a general, or a mother.

"Still want your soul back?" she asked when they were alone again, her voice still a little thick.

"Suppose so," he nodded. "So, it's off to Africa, then, love?"

Buffy said, "Yeah. After the apocalypse I'll win your soul back for you." She stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear, "It' a great excuse to get out of Sunnydale, don't you think?"

*********

Who was he, really, Spike thought as he woke once more in warmth and bliss, his nose in Buffy's warm smooth neck. Wasn't a proper vampire anymore, was he? Didn't feel the slightest desire to bite her, nor was he mesmerized by the rushing of her blood. He could sense the myriad things going on under her skin as acutely as ever, and he remembered wanting it yesterday, but it was with a sense of detachment.

He only wished to lie here peacefully, enjoying the rhythms of her sleeping body, and make love to her later, if she allowed it. That pricked the demon into action. It reared its head and muttered something about being its own master and taking what it wanted. He reined it in and it quieted again.

He turned on his back and lay wondering. What exactly had reined the demon in? Couldn't be the soul, obviously. Which part of the peculiar amalgam that was Spike - the identity that had remained mostly intact with the sudden addition of the soul, and the even more sudden loss of it - had learned to keep the demon in check? And when had it learned that? Some of it was the elementary control every vampire must learn or perish, like being able to walk through a crowd without molesting the humans. Some of it due to the chip, perhaps. Even the soul, though only in residence for about eight months - and by god, did he not miss its somber weight - must have contributed to the overall edifice of Spike.

Buffy stirred under his fingers and he softly kissed her nape. They were equally warm now, after a night spent so close together. He knew she was never cold, due to that hot Slayer energy fizzling away in her, but sometimes he felt shy of laying his icy fingers on her. Didn't like to see the skin crinkle up in gooseflesh, although it made her giggle and squeal, often. Anyway, he was warm now, and could touch her anywhere he wanted without chilling consequences. He cupped a warm breast and pulled her up tighter against him.

He must have fallen asleep again, for when he woke up again, he could see by the slant of the light it must be late afternoon. He showered and dressed, and sauntered down to get his breakfast. Wherever he looked, his eyes met frantic activity. All the girls were sharpening swords, counting arrows or braiding battle hair. He finally located Buffy in the basement, conferring with Willow and Giles.

"What's the hullabaloo, love?"

"We think this is it. Wood came by this morning to tell us there was heightened occult activity over the Hellmouth. We're going in."

"Wood. Hrmph."

Buffy didn't react to his dismissal of the principal. He bent over the table where Giles and Willow were poring over what looked like meteorological maps.

"What's that, then?" he asked.

"Confluences of magical energy," Giles answered. "If we manage to short-circuit it at the right spot, we might disrupt the whole flow and give Buffy a chance to kill whatever needs to be killed."

"Uh-huh."

"You ready?" Buffy asked, looking up at him.

He shrugged. "As you know, always got my weapon with me, love."

She smiled at him. He dropped a kiss on her neck, admiring the tight French braid.

They all went upstairs. Buffy rallied her troops.

"Time to go, boys and girls!"

The army that trooped out of the front door of 1630 Revello Drive looked grim, but prepared for everything.

Spike drew Buffy back against him for a moment. "I believe in you, Buffy," he whispered into her ear.

He felt her stand up straighter and step away from him. On the low rise in front of them, the first black shapes could be seen against the last reddish black tatters of the sunset.

"It's beginning, guys. Let's go save the world."

THE END


End file.
